


Wishes and Thorns

by vivi1138



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU - Dark Modern Fairy Tale, Angst, Child Abandonment, Even some fluff and cuddles I swear, First Love, Guilt, Happy Ending, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Mention of Death, Orphan Yuuri, POV Alternating, Suggestion of Torture and Rape (not for any YOI char), Superstition, The Mistakes of Youth, This isn't a Disney adaptation, Timeskip, Young Victor Nikiforov, smol Yuuri, something something wishes and curses and bad stuff, the angry marshmallow is there too because reasons, they're still skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 33,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Victor saw gold medals in any imaginary scenario he could dream of. What he didn’t expect, was the pain of broken bones and the despair echoing in his entire body when his future shattered.Today, he’s clinging to anything that could get him back to the ice. He’s still a child after all, and some part of him believes wishes can come true. He’s still so young, and the boy who tells him he can cure him is a glimmer of hope.But wishes have a price.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So, this was supposed to be a novel titled Yōkai. It should have been released at least 6 years ago and, well, my brain didn’t seem to agree with it. I kept writing the whole thing then erasing it all and starting over. This hellish loop lasted for so long I settled for never getting it done and letting the fantastic book cover I had already received go to waste.
> 
> And then YoI happened. I thought, what if I mixed the two and turned it into a fanfic? And it works. At some point in the future I might finally be able to use the cover - of course if I ever do that, any and all references to YoI and skating will vanish and I’ll have to rewrite most of it but it'll be so much easier. 
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy! (Obligatory "not a native speaker" disclaimer)

There once lived a beautiful boy, born in a village facing the vast ocean; one eye a warm, reddish brown, the other a pure ice blue, his face a delicately carved work of art. The Gods gifted him with unrivaled kindness and enchanting grace, and his family showered him with love.

 

As he grew up, his ethereal beauty became known to all, legends were told about his blue eye keeping evil at bay. The beautiful boy dedicated himself to the Gods who had blessed him, his presence attracting the highest quality offerings that he would always, without fault, leave on the altar of the shrine. His generosity led him to help many lost children over the years, even if he, himself, possessed no wealth.

 

Words of his existence reached the Imperial Palace on a windy summer day.

 

Even Fate could not win against the will of an Emperor, and soon the shrine lost its priest, as he was taken to the capital. In exchange, a promise was made, and the village and its children would be looked after for as long as the Emperor lived.

 

The priest believed serving the monarch, said to be a descendant of the Sun Goddess, represented an unprecedented honour for his family. He was adorned in gorgeous fabric, was offered food he never even dreamed existed, and felt infinitely grateful to the king who never once laid a finger on him.

 

The boy was too precious to be touched, and as time went by, he fell in love with the older man.

 

Yet within the palace lay a snake, who instilled fear in people’s heart. When the Empress’s health suddenly declined, all but one accused the beautiful priest of putting a spell on her.

 

When the Empress died, all but one accused him of wanting to keep the Emperor to himself.

 

When the three-year-old prince stopped breathing, only then, did the once gentle king turn his back on him.

 

Crippling loneliness made its way into the young priest’s heart as the doors to his quarters were locked behind heavy chains. Despair over his broken heart drowned him in rivers of tears.

 

One day he heard the sound of dragging chains and the steps of armed guards. He stumbled forward when rough hands pushed him, angry whispers rising around him, and he gazed at the Emperor’s unmoving silhouette, so pale and cold on his bed.

 

He prayed when he felt the cold stone floor under his knees and the bite of a rope around his wrists. He cried and begged, his hair yanked back, as he fell apart with blood trickling down his legs, and as he lost faith he wished he had never been born.

 

The gentle boy was brought back to the shrine, now a broken, disjointed doll. He took his last breath with a wish on his chapped lips, that no child who shared the curse of his beauty would know the pain of love.

 

He died with shackles on his feet and no clothes on his back, his tear-stained face a delicately carved work of art, one eye a warm, reddish brown, the other forever blind.

 

Legends of a haunting came and went, until time destroyed the little shrine and another was built on top of the hill by the sea. This one too, turned to dust. Centuries blurred at the bottom of the ancient stairs, and then there was no tale of the one-eyed ghost left to tell.

 

It happened when the roar of cars drowned the quiet chirping of birds and the city lights hid the stars. On top of the hill by the sea, where the grass and trees had grown too tall, the everlasting shadow now cradled a bundle of soft, pink blankets.

 

When the night fell and a child cried, fog rose in the summer dampness. Then came morning and the bundle of soft, pink blankets turned into a tiny coffin.

 

The fog covered it and thickened like a white cocoon. The warm rays of the sun barely filtered through branches heavy with leaves and fruits and suddenly, a pale, slender finger caressed the baby’s cheek.

 

“I’ll protect you,” whispered a soothing, chanting voice. “Come back, little one.”

 

When the child, once again filled with life, finally opened his eyes, they were both a warm, reddish brown.


	2. Hasetsu

The Katsuki family owned an inn close to the seashore in the small, quiet town of Hasetsu, and not a day passed without the sound of laughter echoing all around the traditional house. It had started early today, when their daughter, Mari, decided to wake up her little brother by tickling him. Even after breakfast, he kept trying to get his revenge to no avail: she was much faster than him and ran away. The boy wasn’t easily frustrated. When he understood he couldn’t reach her, he sat back down in front of the TV and continued to watch The Lion King.. 

“Yuuri,” his mother, Hiroko, called, kneeling next to him and rubbing a wet towel on his chin. “Why do you always paint your face with food?” 

He scrunched up his nose and giggled. Hiroko smiled. 

Ever since Yuuri had joined their family, he had been a ray of sunshine and a joy to be around. The boy was five years old, and much easier to handle than his sister. 

The first time Hiroko saw him, she felt a surge of love just as strong as the one Mari brought her when she was born. It happened when the woman took Mari for a walk to help her fall asleep one night. She heard a baby’s cries around the hill near the beach. Thinking nothing of it, she went on her way. Mari was asleep in her stroller when she passed by that very same hill again and noticed the baby was now wailing. She held her daughter close, scared by the darkness waiting for her at the top of the stairs, and hoping all she would find would be a distressed mother trying to calm her child during a particularly tough tantrum. Sadly, all she saw was a bundle of pink blankets wrapped loosely around a baby’s body. Now awake, Mari only watched as Hiroko took him in her arms and tried to warm up his cold hands. 

She felt so lost at first, then so angry against whoever left him there, that she wasn’t able to hide her tears. Snuggled up against her chest, the little boy hiccuped a few times. Brave Mari walked carefully down the stairs with her fingers clinging to her mother’s hand and offered her spot in her stroller to the newborn.

The inn was closer than the police station. Hiroko hurried back home and explained to her dumbfounded husband, Toshiya, where she had found the child. Toshiya put Mari to bed and stayed with her so she wouldn’t think she was less important, and only when she closed her eyes did he go back to his wife in the common area. 

She had washed the baby and dressed him in Mari’s old clothes, a blue onesie covered in polar bears and penguins. The boy was now drinking from a plastic baby bottle. 

“You still had formula somewhere?” Toshiya asked softly after calling the police.

“One of our customers went to the convenience store and bought some. He’s getting free food for the duration of his stay, that’s for sure!”  

She smiled, but her eyes stayed cold. Her husband placed his hand on her shoulder. There was no need for words. 

Two police officers knocked on the door a few minutes later. They accepted the tea Toshiya offered them and sat with the couple while Hiroko described the events she had been through. They seemed rather lost, it might be the first time in their careers that they were faced with this situation. They were both young and Hasetsu wasn’t exactly known for tragedies. The baby would need to be taken to a hospital and if no parent showed up for him quickly, he would be moved to a child care facility in the nearby city of Fukuoka.

Hiroko didn’t say anything but her heart shattered that night.

Years passed and nobody claimed the boy as theirs. The child’s name, Yuuri, was chosen by a pediatrician. He grew up in the care center, and one day the Katsuki family, who had fought tooth and nail from the very first day to keep him, were accepted as foster parents. The foster system wasn’t well-developed, but the fact that the kid had absolutely no relative made the process a bit easier. Adoption papers came next. It could take months, but unofficially, Yuuri was already Mari’s brother.

He squeeed in delight when Timon and Pumbaa appeared on the screen and pointed at them. Regular patrons who always came in early for a bath in the inn’s onsen looked at him, and Hiroko thought, once again, of how much brighter everything was when Yuuri was awake.

“It’s almost time for your ballet class,” she said. She had enrolled him in the beginner’s course after noticing how much he loved dancing whenever he heard music, and he attended his class every Saturday and Sunday. 

“Nooo!” he giggled.

“You can continue watching later. Papa will come with you and Mari will pick you up at the end, so wait for her and don’t go with strangers.”

“And no candy!”

“No candy,” she repeated, ruffling his thick black hair. 

Yuuri ran back to his room as fast as he could. He liked The Lion King, but dance was better. When he came back, his father was waiting for him and helped him put his shoes on after checking the content of his tiny sports bag. Yuuri’s excitement showed on his red cheeks.

Father and son walked together, watching the birds hovering above the sea. When they passed by the hill, Yuuri’s eyes wandered up the stairs but he didn’t stop walking. His family knew he had a strange attraction to this place. He stopped there regularly on the way home from school and even visited when it rained, and he always brought fruits with him. Sometimes, he asked Hiroko for freshly steamed rice. She never questioned it. Mari never left him alone and if she wasn’t available to go with him, the neighbour’s daughter, Yuuko, accompanied the boy. Both girls usually brought him to the top of the stairs, where Yuuri would pout until they walked back down. He wanted to be by himself and they respected that. This was where he was abandoned after all.

“The others say I’m a liar,” he muttered when they reached the dance studio.

Toshiya frowned and kneeled so he could look into his eyes.

“Did you lie, Yuuri?”

“No. No lie!” His big brown eyes widened. “They say I don’t have a brother. They say he’s fake!”

The man kept smiling, as always. Beneath his unbearable cuteness, Yuuri was a strange kid. When he first told them about this “brother”, the Katsuki panicked and made sure to stay close to him. They asked him to show them who he was talking about, so he took them to the hill. On top of the stairs, he pointed at a pile of rocks and told them it was him. It took a while for both Hiroko and Toshiya to be reassured and they decided to let him believe whatever he wanted. They thought the food and toys he brought to the hill reminded them of some sort of offerings, and even though they weren’t superstitious, Yuuri managed to instill some doubt in their minds. 

They helped him when he said he wanted a place to put the food. For his first birthday with them, he asked for a torii gate they could never afford - instead, they looked up the hill’s purpose in historical documents and when they found out a shrine had stood there, they reached out to the Association of Shinto Shrines who was more than happy to rebuild it after gathering the necessary authorizations and donations.

Yuuri’s smile when he found out meant everything to his family.

“Does it make you sad? You’re not a liar, Yuuri, you know that?” Toshiya asked, holding his little shoulders.

He nodded quickly.

“We believe you. Don’t let them get you down, alright?” He looked at his watch and sighed. He would have liked to reassure him more, but he was running late. “If you still feel bad about something, come talk to us tonight. Go now, Yuuri. Minako-sensei doesn’t like it when you’re late, does she?”

Yuuri shook his head vigorously and took off. Toshiya’s lips curved into a smile. He still couldn’t believe they were finally going to adopt him. He was such a gentle and happy child, no matter how weird some of his habits could seem.

 

*******

 

Yuuri’s offering today was a deliciously ripe peach. He placed it on the brand new wooden altar and clapped his hands, then sat on the ground and grabbed his box of crayons and a colouring book. The sun heated the stone under his legs, now that the trees were regularly trimmed. 

The wind rustled the branches and the earthy smell he had long since learned to recognize filled the air. He coloured the poodle on the page in gradients of purple and didn’t stop when long, pale fingers caressed his hair.

“Hi, little one.”

Yuuri replied softly, “Hi”, and drew a pink sun. The teenager next to him waited patiently, and when Yuuri finished drawing, he gently tore the page from the book and turned to look at him.

“Is for you!”

The breeze blew stronger. Smiling, the teen accepted the gift and let Yuuri crawl into his lap.

“Thank you for the peach, too,” he murmured, his arms around the child. 

Yuuri didn’t understand why no one but him could see the boy who kept him company at the shrine. He liked him and wanted people to visit him too, because knowing how alone he was saddened him. The teenager said he couldn’t appear to those who would fear him, explaining that his empty eye, the one he hid behind a long black fringe, would scare everyone away. But Yuuri refused to believe it. To him, the boy was beautiful, kind and lonely and needed more friends. He had always been there for Yuuri. When the child was taken away and lived at the care center, he even appeared in his dreams to dry his tears. Often, Yuuri would fall asleep in his arms, soothed by his warmth and presence or by the songs he whispered. Mari would come find him when he took too long and she would see him laying on the stone tiles, but she wouldn’t say anything. Yuuri had the feeling that she somehow knew he was never alone up there.

“Did you dance today?” the teen asked.

“Minako-sensei said I did good!” he grinned proudly, gazing into his eye which was the same colour as his own. “And Yuuko will teach me ice skating tomorrow!”

“Really? Yuuri, I would love to come watch you one day, so wait for me. One day, perhaps, I’ll be free.”

For a reason Yuuri couldn’t fathom, the teenager was stuck on the hill. He had tried to leave so many times, but always vanished as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The only way he could visit the child was in dreams that would be forgotten the next morning. Yuuri turned around in his arms, suddenly upset, and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t cry, little one.”

His fingers drew small circles on his back and Yuuri calmed down slightly.

Yuuri loved his parents and his sister, but he couldn’t stand being separated from the lonely teenager for more than a day.

“Yuuri, for your sixth birthday, come visit me and bring a rice cake. I’ll grant you one wish. You’ll have many more wishes for your next birthdays, but there are rules, so you need to wait.”

“I’m big and s-strong!” he stuttered, his eyes shining. The teenager laughed.

“You are,” he confirmed, “and I’m so proud of you. But I’m not ready to grant them yet.”

“I want to use a wish so you can have friends,” Yuuri exclaimed, gripping the white fabric of the teenager’s kimono.

“Not yet, my darling.” He glanced at the sky and sighed. “Go back home now.”

Yuuri strolled towards his sister and Yuuko, both sitting on a wooden bench and reading a manga. The teenager’s warmth lingered like a promise: if everything went wrong, he would always be there for him, just like he was when he granted him his first wish; when he believed the baby wrapped in pink blankets would have asked to live, if he had been able to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
>  
> 
> To be continued :D


	3. Interlude - 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will have a few "interludes" from the spirit's POV, written a bit differently from the rest. I will try not to publish them on their own all the time since they're quite short and are lacking Yuuri or Victor. I have the next chapter mostly done, but I might work on it a bit more so I can't say for sure that it'll be out today. I'll do my best though!

Yuuri’s first wish allowed the beautiful teenager to follow him past the torii gate at the top of the old stairs, and the second one erased the nightmares that prevented him from sleeping. The third and fourth wishes gave him the strength and confidence to pursue skating on his own, long after the lessons were removed from his school’s curriculum. Yuuri could have asked to be the best, but he wanted to earn his place on the podium should he ever compete, not use another wish for it.

By the time he was old enough to use his fifth wish, the boy from the temple had warned him that some wishes had a cost. While he would always tell him what he needed to do in exchange, he couldn’t go back once Yuuri voiced a confirmation. This cost was only tied to wishes that went against the natural course of events, wishes that, as long as Yuuri was still a child, could never be granted. But now Yuuri was growing up and he would soon think about love, life and death.

These were things that left the taste of ashes on the spirit’s tongue. Yuuri, his Yuuri, still seemed so small, yet he already stopped mentioning the shrine or his invisible brother, understanding what it looked like to the people around him. Believing in fairy tales was cute for a kid, not so much for a twelve-year-old. And the less he talked about it, the lonelier the shrine felt.

He still visited everyday. His offerings were just as delicious as the ones he prepared when he struggled to stand on his wobbly little legs, and instead of adorable, awkward drawings, the spirit received confessions. He listened to Yuuri’s worries, from how he feared he would never be good enough to show his parents how thankful he was, to his attraction to other boys. Always, the spirit stayed silent, offering him a gentle embrace so he could tell him, wordlessly, that everything would be alright.

The spirit of the shrine used to rest in a world devoid of emotions where time didn’t exist, only waking up when Yuuri needed him or visited him. But lately, he was troubled. Yuuri spoke of a silver-haired skater, beaming at the mention of his name. The spirit didn’t like it. Sitting under the torii, his back against its pillar, bare feet unable to feel the cold of the stone, his eyes were drawn to the few lights still passing through the windows of the nearby houses. He hadn’t seen a car in the past half hour, and morning was almost there. 

He lowered his eyes to the ground when he heard the sound of ruffled fabric. Kept them low when torn up, bloody feet appeared next to him. Frowned at the putrid scent crawling towards him, and tensed at the slow, loud dragging of chains. He turned his face away.

“I apologize for bothering you,” a soft yet sickly sweet voice murmured. “Does the sight of me upset you? I haven’t seen you in so long, why don’t you look at me?”

The spirit knew exactly what he would witness if he looked. The Other. The ravaged, disheveled black hair, the blood-stained face, the unnaturally angled limbs that made him ache in remembrance, the empty eye and the cursed one, so blue it had cost him his life. He wouldn’t look, because it hurt. He couldn’t look, because he couldn’t stand it.

“What has the little one done this time?” the Other cackled. 

He shivered and chose to stay silent.

“We’re one and the same, you can choose to talk or I can pry your mind open.” No answer. “Ah,” he sighed. “How sad. The little one is falling in love, and this boy has my eyes. You knew it would happen though. You hoped our wish would come true, that no other man blessed with our beauty would ever know the pain of love, but the Gods didn’t listen - even better, you became able to grant wishes, but not our own. I think it’s hilarious.”

“Your eye destroyed everything we held dear,” the spirit replied, tone ever so gentle, the setting moon dancing on his pale skin. “It will only bring him pain. Why are you finding it so funny?”

The Other stood up.

“Remember. I am you, you are me. What you call my eye is yours, too. Just because you dissociated yourself from me doesn’t give you the right to think so highly of what you became. The little one can’t see me, because he only believes in the good part of us. But one day, he will see us both, and it terrifies you. You know what to do if you want to protect him.”

“I can’t do it.”

“One day, he will make a costly wish for this boy. If you refuse to grant it, you will break his heart and you know he won’t heal. If you do grant it, the little one will be ours, by his own choice.”

Only when the putrid scent vanished, did the spirit of the shrine look at the now empty spot next to him. On the horizon, red painted the sky when he chose to walk back to the altar. There he stood, motionless, a familiar ache in his chest. He couldn’t prevent his adorable Yuuri from loving the skater he admired so much, and when he thought about his cute smile, his laugh, and how happily he described the boy, he briefly saw him dying at his feet, just like himself, a disjointed, humiliated and broken doll cursed by love. Perhaps he, too, would divide his own self into two different beings, one pure, gentle and caring, the other haunted by fear and pain.  


The thought of Yuuri meeting the same cruel fate he did created a single tear. It turned to dust, and he believed he heard the Other laugh in the shadows.


	4. Fukuoka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor makes his first appearance.

When Victor Nikiforov, sixteen years old, imagined his Senior debut outside the borders of his native Russia, he dreamed of a rose crown placed on his long silver hair, a gold medal hanging around his neck. Competing was what he was born to do. Figure skating had no secret for him. Over the years, standing tall on every podium in Russia had become second nature, so much so that getting second or third place felt like a burning insult.

Victor belonged to the ice, and the ice belonged to Victor. As soon as he could stand on his own two feet with enough strength to keep himself from wobbling, he was taken to a frozen lake, an hour away from his home. The rusty double blades laced under his shoes did not exactly allow him to glide, but they prevented him from slipping, and he stared in wonder at the way the white surface glimmered under the winter sun. 

Later, he was given real skates. He still held his mother’s hand tightly, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips in determination. The first time he fell, he cried until he started hiccuping, his cheeks red, his tiny fists balled in frustration, his silver hair stuck to his forehead. He fell again and again, but was not easily defeated. 

One day, he finally stopped looking at his toes as he skated. His incredibly clear blue eyes looked up at the cloudy sky and for the first time, he understood how dear this lake was to him. 

The lake became an ice rink, his hobby turned into a passion until he couldn’t bear the thought of putting an end to it. He pretended he didn’t hear the arguments between his parents when he requested to quit public school, and he lied when he was told to rest. Soon, he joined one of the remaining sports schools, which seemed to satisfy his father who only wanted to be sure his son would still have some sort of education on top of his skating.

Victor quickly became the best in his field and let his hair grow. He joined national Novice then Junior competitions and never won less than bronze. Europe was his next stop. By then, Victor was known for his angelic face and breathtaking performances, but inside his limited private circle, his attitude made him lose the few friends he ever had. Because Victor had too much pride and was an overachiever, he slowly distanced himself from everyone, believing they interfered with his skating. He built an unapproachable persona no one wished to know, refused to work with the coaches assigned to him by his school and became, quite frankly, a living nightmare.

His school only offered academics for the first few years, before dropping most of them in favor of his chosen sport. At fifteen, Victor had completed his compulsory education, but his father wanted him to keep studying with a private tutor. The teenager didn’t think it gave him enough time to skate and asked to have a room in the school’s dormitory despite living in the same city, just so he could be closer to the rink. Neither the school, nor his parents, approved of it. The dormitory was reserved for kids whose parents lived far away and the cost was a ridiculous and unnecessary expense. After one too many tantrums and refusal to follow instructions, he was given a final warning by the director. If he wanted to stay in this school, he would need to accept criticism and would be assigned a coach he would have to listen to - and Victor, stubborn and proud, was kicked out of school.

It didn’t matter: he had been scouted in the meantime and already had a coach outside of school. He blamed his parents when he only won silver in his next competition and both of them, deeply hurt by their child’s ungrateful behavior, decided to let him prove himself. They cut off his allowance and sent him to live with the coach who had recently offered his services to the boy: an older, gruff man named Yakov Feltsman, renowned in the skating world for his ruthless yet highly efficient training. 

They were a good match. Yakov got through to him most of the time and Victor, under his guidance, bloomed. 

For his senior debut, he was sent to Fukuoka, Japan. He was delighted, having never visited the country before, and for once he actually wanted to do something beside skating. He snuck out of his hotel on the first day to go to Canal City, an entertainment complex, where he saw dog shaped lamps on the ceiling and spent two hours browsing each and every shop, hoping he could buy them. He never found them, but when he came back, even Yakov’s scolding couldn’t erase his bright smile.

He went to bed that night with the thrill of discovery running through his veins and the next morning, he arrived late for practice after getting lost in Hakata station, unable to find how to get back downstairs. He ignored Yakov’s anger, tied his long silver hair and stepped on the ice, able to shut off the noise around him while the rink was undergoing last minute preparations before the official opening of the first competition in the Grand Prix series. Being late meant he sacrificed more than half his time to get ready but he was confident. He didn’t try any jump, focusing instead on the step sequence that, according to Yakov, still needed some work. He felt the muscle in his legs tense slightly since he didn’t stretch enough before starting, and grinned at the burning sensation he had grown to love. He could feel sweat running down his temples as he hurried through the most challenging steps of his short program, and when Yakov called his name again, he obediently let the next skater, whom he hadn’t bothered learning anything about, enjoy his own last practice before the rink would allow entry to the crowd lined up outside. The Junior skaters would go first, which meant Victor had a few hours in front of him - however, as tempting as sneaking out appeared at all times, he couldn’t afford it right now, even he knew better. 

Without a glance behind them, the Russians walked towards the locker room. Whispers, giggles and exclamations created a strange music just for Victor, who sat on the wooden bench farthest away from everyone else and removed his skates, thinking he would like to have golden blades one day. He put on his sneakers next. Yakov made sure his belongings were safely stored in locker 451 and gave him the white and red sweater he had recently been given. It was too big for him but it would do. There was a small window above him, very high up on the wall, and the light confused him. Not bright enough for this time of the day. Was it raining? Not that he actually cared, though it meant everyone waiting outside would be drenched and he could secretly laugh at the ones who looked like they had fallen into the nearby sea.  

Head held high, he left the room while Yakov told him about the day’s tight schedule. He would start with a short interview, eat, and spend the rest of the time stretching until his name was called. He still had thirty minutes to kill before the press would show up. While Yakov looked away, distracted by another coach who started a conversation the older Russian seemed frustrated about, Victor grinned and slipped away, drinking from a water bottle. He followed the dimly lit corridor towards the side exit, pulling his hoodie on his head to hide his hair. He took the stairs and swore in Russian when his bottle fell. He picked it up and moved faster, then pushed the door at the top, knowing it’d lead to a platform above the main hall. That way, he could watch people without being seen, unless he wasn’t careful enough. He kneeled on the carpet and inched closer to the barrier, then checked the view from different angles and ultimately chose a spot between a vending machine and a tall, bushy plant. He snickered. He had been right: it was raining enough to create wide blurry waterfalls on the large windows surrounding the hall of the arena. It would definitely be funny when the doors would open.

From his hiding spot, he waved at the security guard who quickly checked who he was before rolling his eyes and remaining close by, ready to intervene if the skater got in trouble. He must have been bored to allow him to stay.

It didn’t take long for him to hear a gasp. He looked to his right, finding a small kid, face beet-red, staring at him with huge reddish brown eyes. A quick look indicated that he was a skater, wearing the Japanese Skating Federation sweater, but his badge, entirely in Japanese, didn’t sport the same colour as the Junior competitors’. He didn’t seem to be there by mistake either, since the security guard spotted him but didn’t ask why he stood there. So, Victor gave him his best smile and waved.

“Are you a skater?” he asked softly, not wishing to be heard by Yakov if he roamed the area. English was still difficult for him, he spoke French fluently but only started learning a third language when he realized it would be useful for his career. His accent was strong and he spoke slowly.

The kid seemed to understand him and nodded, fidgeting.

“But you’re not skating today?”

Of course he wasn’t, he looked way too young to be part of the Junior division. He shook his head, and Victor moved to the side, placing his hand on the floor.

“Sit with me? I’m Victor, it’s nice to meet you.”

His face blushed even more, but he stepped forward.  _ He’s too cute!  _ Victor thought. Up close, the child made him want to hug him and never let go, the same reaction he always had when he saw a puppy.

“I am Yuuri,” the child murmured, doing everything he could to avoid looking him in the eye, but still sitting with him. 

Victor didn’t resist and ruffled the kid’s thick black hair. He thought he saw a hint of a smile, so he pulled him close. Yuuri’s shoulders were shaking but the light in his gaze showed no distress.

“Why are you alone?”

“I look for toilet. Mama is on phone.”

“Oh. Do you need to go? We can look together.”

Yuuri bit his lower lip and gave another shy nod. Victor stood up, offering him his hand, surprised at how warm his palm felt against his. He asked the guard if it was alright to go and was told, after the man checked the badge, that Yuuri was registered as a Junior skater with the JSF and, despite not competing today, he was given a visitor pass, like many other aspiring professionals. Victor blinked several times. 

“How old are you?” he asked, moving towards the door at the other side of the second floor.

“Twelve.”

He looked no more than ten, and Victor ran a hand through his silver hair, embarrassed. Good thing he didn’t start cooing or talking with a baby voice. Finding the bathroom, he let him go in and waited outside just as thunder rumbled outside.

Yuuri looked more composed when he came back out and thanked him. Victor’s smile, this time, wasn’t the one he reserved for the press. It was warm and sincere, an apology for assuming Yuuri was so young. He offered to sign his badge, and the Japanese watched in awe as he scribbled a sentence in Russian.

“What it mean?”

“ _ Today my short program is for you. Watch me! _ ”

Yuuri squealed and buried his face against Victor’s jacket. The silver-haired teenager grew even more confident: he would win gold, and he would dedicate it to this adorable bundle of cuteness. The guard called him then, motioning towards his radio and informing him that his coach was looking for him. Victor snorted, imagining Yakov screaming in the locker room. He hugged Yuuri tighter then let go.

“I will watch, Victor!” he claimed, and Victor winked.

“I’ll be the best! Thank you, Yuuri!”

The heavy door closed behind him and he hummed the melody of a past program. He thought he heard his coach’s voice and couldn’t help but snicker as he walked down the first flight of stairs. The light flickered, another low rumble made him wonder what it would be like if everything went dark when someone was skating. He shuddered at the thought. He remembered the puddle of water he left on the steps earlier and avoided it, before running straight into Yakov.

This day was more entertaining than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog shaped lamps in Canal City are actually cat shaped and I can’t imagine what Yurio would think if he saw them. I also got lost for 30 minutes trying to find the exit in that stupid station mall, I feel your pain, Victor.
> 
> I got you with the puddle of water, didn't I.


	5. Fukuoka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was all cute and shiny, wasn't it?

The lamp above Victor created a buzzing sound and the air felt heavy and damp, the weather akin to a summer night before a storm. His silver hair was curling at his temples. Close-by, Yakov angrily looked at his phone, muttering about the rain and how it was December and should not feel so stuffy. Despite the humidity, the temperatures were low, and Victor shivered under the costume partially made of black mesh that would help him make his intriguing, sexy program unforgettable. His nails were painted silver, shining every time he moved.

He had been worried the organizers would cancel or postpone the competition two days ago, when lightning struck a bit too close to the rink. Thankfully, the storm subsided by the time the Seniors were about to step on the ice. 

The same worries plagued the organizers today, however they quickly decided to keep the competition going: there was no thunder after all, only strong winds, and the rain seemed to fall only in quick showers.

Victor scratched an itch on his right ankle and tied his skates. He wondered if the boy would watch him today. Dedicating his short program to him had been an impulse he didn’t regret. It gave a new meaning to each of his steps and jumps and he told himself, what if that was all he was missing to be the best? A reason other than personal gratification for winning. He thought he could start by being nicer to his fans, more approachable. Perhaps he could extend this to his rink-mates. Victor was a lonely boy who never expected to feel so happy about the short, simple interaction he had with the Japanese child. If friendship could drive him forward instead of interfering with his skating, why not try ? He snickered at the thought of Yakov’s disbelief if he ended up talking with another skater.

He let his coach double-check the integrity of his blades then looked at himself in the mirror, rearranging the braids circling his head like a crown and frowning at the small curly strands rebelling against the weather. His soft silver eyeshadow shimmered, just like the numerous gems and sparkles slithering down his right leg. He smiled at his enchanting reflection and stood up, his guards firmly hugging his blades. Yakov led him towards the rink. Instead of ignoring everyone like he usually did, he smiled at one of his competitors who promptly walked into the nearest wall in shock. He then waved at the skater who was headed to the Kiss & Cry, earning himself a surprised stare, before taking his guards off.

The announcement of his free skate was drowned in the familiar roar of the crowd. He moved effortlessly on the ice and took his position in the center, arms outstretched, legs crossed. He closed his eyes and waited.

_ Are you watching, little Yuuri? _ he wondered, before the first notes cascaded from the speakers.

He tilted his head to the side and spread his feet apart. The melody, a lullaby Yakov commissioned for him, sounded hauntingly beautiful. He danced with graceful, slow movements, stopped abruptly to then launch into a series of smaller, more delicate gestures leading to his first jump. 

He represented dreams. He sped up for the wild ones, speaking of travel and heroism, peppering them with a quadruple flip that made the audience gasp. He relaxed his face and smiled gently for romance and comfort, back arching in an Ina Bauer and turning into a Biellmann spin. His step sequence pictured a quiet walk in a magical forest, small and quick jumps across a pond, blue eyes looking at an imaginary starry sky. Then came the adventure and the pure joy of hydroblading, and he soared high, landing perfectly to launch into the air yet again. He circled the ice backwards, positioning himself for a triple salchow.  

The lights went out. His blades left the ice before he could stop.

In the eerie silence, he heard a loud  _ thud _ and a strangely muffled crack. He felt himself slip against a plastic surface before laying still on the ice. It was still dark when voices made their way to his ears, hushed whispers from the crowd, anonymous questions reverberating in his head. He recognized Yakov, asking if he was alright. He sighed and opened his mouth to reassure him.

He realized he couldn’t talk and tasted blood. He wondered if he hit his face, feeling increasingly colder, like he was fusing with the ice beneath him. When the lights came back on, he flinched. 

Someone screamed and Yakov yelled his name. Victor heard the rush of blades coming towards him and blinked in confusion at the emergency personnel, then at his coach, who stared at him, horrified, both hands over his mouth. Victor wanted to laugh at his expression but he remembered talking seemed like too much effort right now. 

He was asked to focus on a tiny light and couldn’t understand why. He lolled his head from side to side slowly to avoid it. He just wanted to continue his free skate. It was almost over - he wouldn’t be disqualified, right? It wasn’t his fault and he just had one more jump to do. His eyes scanned the public. He noticed no one smiled - no, they all looked deathly pale and he could see a young girl being carried away, lurching forward. And then he met them. These reddish brown eyes that belonged to the cute Junior skater. The kid, surrounded by Juniors and Novices wearing the JSF jacket, was wrapped in a woman’s arms. She seemed to try to reason with him, make him move or stop watching, but he stood still, staring at Victor. The silver-haired teenager wasn’t the best at interpreting people’s expressions but this one sent a painful bite to his chest. 

_ Come on Yuuri, why do you look like your dog died?  _ He wished he could tell him to smile. Instead, he grinned at him. Confusion spread on Yuuri’s face and the flow of tears lessened. He even waved at Victor, who tried to respond, only to remember just how tired he felt. The thought of moving a single finger was exhausting, so he decided to sleep. He was still shivering but someone put a blanket over him and lifted him off the ice and it was so hard to keep his eyes open right now. He was comfortable and the noise around him slowly faded.

Perhaps he should have gone to bed earlier the previous night. He was so tired.

 

 

*

 

 

When he woke up, the sun shone too brightly and he turned his face away from the window. He felt sick, like the first time he had participated in Skate Canada and got hit by strong and long-lasting jetlag side-effects. That day, he didn’t eat at all during the flight and kept refusing to use the toilet because he said it was smelly - the result had been a urinary tract infection and a horrible nausea preventing him from eating even though he was starving. He groaned. Hopefully it wouldn’t be that bad this time. His throat hurt though, and he felt like he was floating above the bed.

The bed. It wasn’t his. It wasn’t the one he had slept in yesterday either, the sheet under him rubbed his skin like paper and the pillow was certainly not the giant memory foam pillow from his hotel room.

“Vitya!”

“Mama?!”

Well, that was unexpected. He gasped at the woman who rushed to his side, her short hair in a pixie cut that suited her perfectly, tears threatening to spill from eyes just as blue as his own. She smiled and grabbed his hand. She smelled like winter. Her presence woke him up completely. 

He was now aware of his surroundings, a private hospital room that could almost be comfortable if the bedding wasn’t so stiff. He was hooked up to two monitors. 

“Why are you in Japan?” he asked, wide eyed, before drinking from the glass she offered him.

“Do you think I would stay home after Yakov called? Your father is resting at the hotel but he’ll come by later.”

“So, you can come and watch me?” His heart swelled. No matter what he said or pretended, he had missed his parents and always hoped they’d follow him around the world for his competitions.

His mother looked exhausted, but she smiled and kissed his forehead.

“The competition is over, honey.”

“They’re going to let me skate my program again, right? What did they say? When am I getting out?”

She looked like she wanted to speak, but something in her broke. Victor could see it. She turned away from him and he saw her shoulders shake violently. Almost like she was laughing but… she wasn’t. The young man didn’t like it. 

“Mama?”

“It’s- it’s okay, darling, Mama is just a little bit tired,” she murmured, her voice strangled, still refusing to look at him.

Dread filled every pore of his body.

“Mama, what’s wrong with me?” 

“I- let’s wait for the doctor, alright?”

He hated this. He clenched his fist, weakly, refraining the urge to throw up. When he heard footsteps and saw a man in a lab coat, apparently in his forties, followed by Yakov, he suddenly didn’t want to have answers anymore.

“Hello Victor, I am Doctor Hatoyama,” the man said with a smile, his accent reminding Victor of cute Yuuri. “I assume you have many questions, so why don’t we go over them together?”

The teenager kept his lips sealed, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest. He tried to focus on the birthmark marking Hatoyama’s nose and on the nervous twitch of his upper lip but none of this calmed him down. He turned to Yakov instead, eyes pleading. His coach shook his head.

“You’re hurt, Vitya, and it’s not a bruise,” he calmly announced. “The ISU didn’t want to medal you, but your competitors refused to take the podium. They all stepped down.” A shining gold medal was presented to him, and as his fingers caressed the metal, tears pooled in his eyes. Why would anyone do this? He had acted like a prick, undermining his fellow skaters, parading like no one could ever reach his excellence. He certainly wouldn’t sacrifice anything for someone like himself. This meant… this meant it was bad. Really bad. Of course it was, if his parents flew across the world. “I believe it was fair,” Yakov added. “You fell at the end, and even with the fall your combined score broke the world record. You deserve your medal.”

He still didn’t want to know. But he had to. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Tell me what happened and don’t talk to me like I’m a kid. Tell me everything.”

The grip of his mother’s hand on his tightened. Hatoyama cleared his throat and spoke softly:  


“You suffered a fracture of your T10 and T11 vertebrae. Your left kidney ruptured and the lesions on your back required several stitches. We were able to save your organ.”

His jaw tensed but he still refused to look at the man.

“How did I fall?”

“You fell on the barrier of the rink. Your back bent against it,” Yakov muttered.

_ I was too close to it in the first place, _ he thought bitterly. 

Then it dawned on him.

_I broke my back._ His eyes snapped open.

“I’m never going to walk again, am I?”


	6. Fukuoka

Victor couldn’t stand to look at the bare white walls of his private hospital room without feeling his stomach twist. Every morning he would open his eyes, expecting to see the luxury of his hotel, thinking he could laugh at his recurring nightmares, put them behind him, and skate. There would be no flickering lights, no thunderstorm and no rain. There would be no missed jump, no screams. When his vision, blurred by fatigue, adjusted enough to allow him to identify his surroundings, Victor closed his eyes again and sobbed.

On most days, he cried silently but sometimes, he screamed and clawed at his legs until they bled, hoping to feel something, anything, and he felt nothing at all. 

He barely slept - and the next day, he slept too much. He either didn’t eat, or threw it all up. He didn’t watch TV, didn’t touch any of the books his parents brought him, and didn’t talk. When his mother and father visited, he pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to face them. He listened to their hushed conversations, so he knew they had chosen to stay in Japan until he was healthy enough to stand a long flight - and now, he was. He didn’t want to stay. He also refused to go home. He couldn’t face himself, his own room, his medals and pictures and trophies and if he saw them again he might set them all on fire.

The worst nights were when he forgot. When he thought he could walk, but fell on the cold hard floor, dragging everything with him and tearing his IV out of his arm. His body was covered in painful purple, black and yellowish spots from his falls. He had nothing left yet he didn’t wish for death. Somewhere, he still hoped the doctors were wrong or he never actually broke his back but suffered from a particularly severe hernia. 

Today, Victor’s right shoulder ached after he slipped from his bed in yet another futile attempt at standing up. Yakov found him and kept quiet about it since his IV was still intact: neither of them wanted Victor to be strapped to his bed, which would be the next step unless he calmed down. 

He glanced at the wheelchair against the wall.

“I can take you outside,” his coach muttered, his arms folded. He came back to Japan to help Victor’s parents bring their son back home.

“Vitya,” the older man repeated.

The teenager looked at his hands. They seemed so thin. He remembered the nurses saying he was lucky to be alive. He could have broken his neck instead. There was nothing lucky about this situation and it infuriated him that people could believe he would just find something else to love. People made him feel like he was being too dramatic - they would never understand. They probably never had a passion that set their whole world aflame and consumed every moment of their existence. Without the ice, Victor was nothing. 

They said he was young. He could go back to studying. He could go to college and find a fancy job that wouldn’t require him to stand up. His legs were the only limit.

It wasn’t worth it. It had been weeks, and he grieved.

His throat felt like sandpaper when he asked to be taken to the beach.

 

*

 

Hasetsu was quiet at this time of the day, but Victor didn’t see much of it. He kept his eyes closed in Yakov’s rental car, his mother’s perfume, once so soothing and familiar, irritating his nostrils. He heard the rattle of his wheelchair in the trunk and put on his earphones. It didn’t matter what he was listening to, as long as it hadn’t been used in any competition he took part in. He had carefully erased each song reminding him of the ice and it had not been an easy task, but hospitals were boring and he had nothing else he even remotely wanted to do.

The music filling his head now was a Russian folk metal song and he had no idea how it even got in his playlist in the first place. He was into arias, always had been. At least, guitar riffs didn’t remind him of skating in the slightest and the growls could be an echo of his own anger. He felt his mother’s disapproving gaze but didn’t lower the volume. 

The car stopped on a tiny parking lot, empty save for an old pick-up truck eaten away by rust and salt. A tangled fishing net hung over the edge of the trunk. Victor turned the music off and left his MP3 player on the seat, his cheeks heating up in humiliation when Yakov carried him then pushed his wheelchair forward. Victor’s mother didn’t follow; she stood on a small pier, in her husband’s arms, and her son knew she was crying. His coach brought him far enough so he wouldn’t see her anymore.

The cold reminded the boy of St. Petersburg. He listened to the gulls and the waves, shivering under his heavy coat. He put on the gloves he kept in his pocket and tightened his thick scarf, hiding the lower half of his face behind its soft fabric. He was relieved to be there and not in Fukuoka. The seaside of a big city wasn’t what he needed at the moment.

“I want to be alone,” he muttered, repeating himself when his coach didn’t hear him.

Yakov looked worried but Victor sighed loudly.

“If I wanted to kill myself, I’d have done it weeks ago. I’m not going to crawl into the water. You can keep an eye on me, just… not too close.”

It was the longest sentence he had uttered since the accident. The older man resigned himself and left. 

Victor observed the sand meeting the sidewalk. If he could touch it with his toes he would probably find it freezing. It was coarse. He couldn’t bend forward enough to grab a handful of it, so he glanced at the dark blue sea. Grey clouds hung low in the sky. The wind carried the smell of salty waters and Victor’s long silver hair danced with it. He liked this beach. There was an old dead tree a few meters away in the stand and Victor wished he had asked Yakov to carry him closer and let him sit on it.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there before his eyes met the familiar reddish-brown ones of the kid he had met before the competition. He stood in the sand, wearing a school uniform, his hair sticking out in every direction, his face pink, his breathing ragged. He initially wanted to ignore him, or snap at him, telling him to get lost, because he wanted to forget - but the warmth he felt choked him up. 

Yuuri took a few hesitant steps towards him. His eyes were rimmed red.

“Have you been crying?” Victor heard himself ask.

He nodded.

“This is a nice place, do you live here?”

He opened his mouth to answer, and his body shuddered before he started sobbing. Victor took his hand, confused, trying to make out the words he said and understanding that Yuuri believed he was dead. If he could stand, he would hug him and never let go. Instead, he patted the boy’s hair and waited until he calmed down. When his tears stopped, Yuuri was startled by hiccups. They made him laugh. Victor finally smiled. 

“You are sick?” Yuuri asked then, looking at his face.

“No, but I am very sad,” he replied. “You make me feel a little bit better.”

“The chair is forever?”

The smile vanished, and Victor felt like crying again - and he was sure the kid would follow, so he held it all in.

“Yes, little Yuuri. I can’t walk.”

“I… I can make you walk!”

He snorted. Yuuri was endearing, but wasn’t he a bit too old to be so naive? He probably read the doubts in his eyes because the blush on his face deepened.

“It’s true! I have a friend, he can help.”

“Yuuri, you’re a good kid, but you can’t cure me. Your friend can’t help.”

“He gives me wishes. He has magic.”

He shook his head sadly, and blinked at Yuuri’s determined expression.

“Try?” the Japanese asked, and the wind blew stronger. “When you skate I am happy. I want to see you skate again.”

It couldn’t hurt to obey him, and Victor tried to silence his childish hopes when he said he would do everything, give all he had, to stand on the ice once more.

Yuuri beamed, and placed a shy kiss on Victor’s cheek.

“I give you my wish.”

What that meant, Victor didn’t know, and when he looked up at him, Yuuri was gone. 

The Russian was brought back to the car a few minutes later, his mind peaceful. He took a look at the truck on the parking lot before they left, and his breath hitched. For a few seconds only, the fishing net became a bramble of black thorns. He squinted, but it was a normal tangled net again. Victor fell asleep on the ride back to Fukuoka.

He was awoken by loud cheers.

He landed his triple salchow. The lights didn’t go out. His body moved on its own until he took his final pose.

His legs carried him to the Kiss&Cry.  _ His legs _ . He could feel his sore feet in his skates. 

Nobody noticed his confusion, but Yakov yelled at him when he started crying. 

He won gold, and strangely, cute little Yuuri wasn’t there to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with this chapter for some reason. After finishing Eyes Like Frozen Water, I was in the mood for fluff, but I had to write this chapter instead and it killed me.


	7. Interlude - 2

Next to the shrine on top of the hill stood a small stone wrapped in a clean white cloth. The characters carved on it said “Little One”. No one knew how it got there or why, but it was left untouched.

 

Kids said a curse loomed over the entire hill and only the bravest climbed the steps. When they passed under the torii gate, the freezing air made them turn back in a hurry. Nothing could explain it. Even at the height of summer, when temperatures were so unbearably high and the humidity made breathing difficult, this spot stayed cold as ice. As a result, the shrine was abandoned once more, however this time, it became usual to see Shinto priests walk past it and offer a blessing and an offering. They never spent much time past the gate.

 

It had happened suddenly, one windy winter day. One side of the torii gate was suddenly wrapped in thin spikes and thorns, the other side staying perfectly clean.

 

On that windy winter day, the name Yuuri Katsuki, previously known all around town for being an adorable little figure skater, was erased from everyone’s memory. His adoptive parents didn’t grieve for him, as they never remembered him. Pictures and records vanished all at once. Yuuri never existed, or if he did, he was found dead at the shrine as a nameless newborn. 

 

If someone could see spirits, they would notice the three figures at the top of the stairs. One dressed in white, gorgeous and kind, always sitting on the same side of the gate. One naked and broken, his only eye shining blue, arms curled around the mysterious vines of the other pillar. The last one sometimes sat on top of the gate and watched the road, the houses or the birds, dressed in a middle school uniform. He could also be seen playing on the stone tiles, eating the offerings or dancing gracefully as soon as the sun set. And unlike the first spirit, he couldn’t see the second one. Not yet.

 

Until the boy joined them, time didn’t exist. They saw leaves fall. They walked on the snow without being bitten by the cold, and they watched it melt. The cycle repeated itself and they didn’t count how many times they saw flowers bloom. Now, one thing kept them all aware of the seasons and years: the third spirit was growing up.

 

“What are you looking at, little one?” the kind spirit asked one day when, at sunset, the boy, now almost a man, flew high above the gate.

 

But he didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on Hasetsu Castle, knowing the ice rink stood nearby. He wanted to skate, and he couldn’t ask. His friend, who had watched over him for so long, had already done enough for him. He had saved a sweet and beautiful skater. All the young man could do now was hope he would see him again, and the ice would stay a distant dream. He had no more wishes to use.


	8. St.Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: self-destruction, could be considered self-harm in a way. This chapter tells the end of a hard time for Victor.
> 
> Don't forget to read the previous interlude if you didn't see it since I just posted it.

Alcohol-induced giggles echoed in the cold hallway, weak lamps barely repelling the shadows. Curses followed the tingle of metal dropping on tiles, then a laugh, quickly silenced, was replaced by a moan and the rustle of fabric.

“Aaah wait wait! My keys-”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It’s cold.”

“But it’s exciting. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Seriously, I- aah. My neighbors will get me evicted.”

If anyone looked at them, they would see two young men, a tangle of limbs and clothes, sharing breathless kisses. The smaller one leaned against the wall, eyes shut, long silver hair cascading down his torso, face flushed, one hand on the doorknob, the other gripping his partner’s blond locks.

Victor Nikiforov, twenty-two years old, melted under the older man’s touch and shivered at the way he dragged his teeth on his exposed collarbone. He didn’t know his name, or didn’t bother remembering it. He would be gone in the morning, like everyone before him, then Victor would receive calls - one if he was lucky, Yakov screaming at him for his recklessness, hundreds if he had been caught. Lawyers would fight with the press, the scandal forgotten as soon as a new one arose, leaving him with an ache between his legs. The living legend of figure skating would find another body to warm his bed. Again and again.

A wandering hand made him groan about public indecency. An arrest wasn’t on his bucket list. Pushing the man back, he bent down to retrieve his keys (car, home, locker) and grinded his hips when he felt a pressure against his back.

His studio was messy. It didn’t matter, it never did, not since _then_ . As soon as the door closed behind them, his hair was pulled together in the other man’s fist, his lips bitten. Clothes fell at his feet. Soon he was down on his knees, bitterness on his tongue and arousal burning. His head hurt. His jaw was tired, how long had it been? Thrown on his bed he wondered if he still had milk, then agreed on a safe word. _Vodka_. Like it wasn’t what brought them together in the first place.  

It was hot and painful and so good, everything he needed. _Rough._

Another voice in his head chanted what he truly thought. _Humiliating. Disgusting. Degrading._

It sounded louder in the morning, when he woke up in tears and answered his buzzing phone.

“I _know_ ,” he croaked, exhausted and sore. His throat hurt.

“I’m calling to ask if you’re alone.”

He frowned. That wasn’t Yakov. Why would Christophe Giacometti, a Swiss skater who sometimes shared both a podium and a bed with him, call him today?

“I am,” he replied after a quick look around. He saw four used condoms on the floor. _Disgraceful. Shameful._

“Good. See you in a minute.”

The call ended. So, Chris was in Russia for some reason. Not that Victor cared. He tried to move so he could open the door, but remembered he didn’t lock it after the other guy left, so he just stayed in bed.

“Dude, what the hell?”

He didn’t move, hiding his face in his pillow. It smelled like sex. Everything did. He recognized Chris’ cologne when he got close, but his silence was unfamiliar. Chris was an outgoing, flirty guy, a couple years younger than him. Victor wouldn’t say they were friends, because he had no one like that, but sometimes, the Swiss seemed to think they were.

“Can you get up?”

He kept his face turned the other way when he replied he didn’t want to.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll be right back.”

Next he heard water running, and Chris came back, grabbing his hand. _Gently_. He didn’t want gentle. Didn’t deserve gentle.

“Okay, Nikiforov, you’re getting up no matter what.”

He was dragged out of bed like a doll and swore when he fell on the wooden floor, pain jolting through his entire body. He hissed, but stood up and limped, Chris’s arm around his waist. He was pushed under the warm shower, then closed his eyes again and rested his forehead against the wall.

Water ran on his skin. He flinched when Chris washed him, then let him shampoo his hair. Fingers opened him up slightly, and there was nothing sexual about it. By the time he felt clean enough, the water was freezing cold, yet Chris stayed with him. He dried him with a fluffy, brand new towel Victor knew wasn’t his but he was too numb to care. He heard the unmistakable slurping sound of lotion coming out of a bottle then felt it being applied to bruises and wounds he didn’t even know he had, one in a place he realized had been torn, thankfully not badly enough for Chris to freak out. He definitely felt it when he sat on the small stool by the shower stall.

Finally, Chris handed him a toothbrush, and sat behind him to brush his hair.

“Yakov knew I was in St. Petersburg, since I asked if he had rink time available,” he said then, his low voice soothing as always. “He told me you were in trouble. Said to get you out of there and talk. So, I’m talking, and when I’m done with your hair, we’re leaving.”

Victor didn’t say anything. There was a stain on the wall in front of him.

“I’ll be honest with you Victor, you’re scaring me. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because no one else will. Now, why are _you_ doing this?”

It was hard to swallow and hard to breathe.

“I… have nightmares,” he confessed, and when he did, lights flickered in his memory and brambles strangled a young boy in front of him, tearing him apart. He didn’t want to see that anymore. Never again. “I can’t sleep,” he continued. “I can only rest when I pass out. I don’t want to ruin my health, so I don’t drink or take pills. Well, I was drunk last night but it doesn’t happen that often.”

“So you have sex until you can’t keep your eyes open, I get it. How often? That’s a lot of bruises for one night. I didn’t think you were into SM. Doesn’t look like it was done correctly either.”

“I just wanted him to be rough.”

“He tore you. You said you were drunk. How drunk? Did you consent to all of it?”

“It’ll heal.”

“Victor, I don’t care what you do in your free time but it’s not just about your health now. Did you consent to everything?”

“We had a safe word.”

“Did you use it?”

“Yes.”

“Did he stop?”

He nodded, and Chris cursed in relief under his breath, untangling the long silver hair.

“I’m sorry Yakov is making you do this.”

“Don’t be. Did you see someone about your nightmares? Since when do you have them? You look sick, honestly. You weren’t like that at the GPF.”

_I wasn’t, because I didn’t remember back then._

It started after he won gold in the Olympics. He had dinner with his coach and competitors, then went back to his hotel room exhausted and happy, with a new medal to add to his ever-growing collection. He fell asleep quickly, and dreamed of a boy with beautiful reddish-brown eyes. He woke up sweating and confused, but didn’t struggle to go back to sleep. Then it happened, and something long forgotten resurfaced.

Yuuri. Little Yuuri, sweet and kind. A storm, a broken back and a lost future. A wish on a sandy beach under clouds heavy with rain and snow, then a jump back in time, in a world without Yuuri’s smile.

He looked up his name, browsed the JSF website for hours until the light of dawn danced in the room and Yakov banged on the door yelling about their flight back home. As soon as the plane landed, he checked his emails, having asked the JSF about the boy. Their answer told him they had no idea who he was.

In the next few days, his obsession grew, but he found nothing. No one heard of him. And the dreams continued.

For the first few weeks, they only brought him sadness and worry. He still believed all of it had been an illusion, after all what else could it be? But it seemed so strange and so real, he just couldn’t let it go. Soon the dreams darkened, until what he saw in them made it unbearable to sleep. He thought he was losing his mind. Every morning he woke up crushed with guilt, until he convinced himself that he did something horrible that could never be proven or forgiven.

Here he was. A disgusting excuse of a human being, undeserving of the love little Yuuri had for him. He should have stopped him. Should have said no and learned to live without his legs. It wasn’t real, but it felt like it was to him.

So, he suffered for him.

It wasn’t all bad, or he wouldn’t be alive today. Nights were always the worst, but his days were alright. He skated and enjoyed it. He was depressed (at least he guessed he was, since it never happened to him before), but able to function and laugh. His emotions were a rollercoaster, which showed in the lack of care he gave to his apartment, but he kept a healthy diet and a strict schedule, so all wasn’t lost.

He realized he was crying when Chris handed him the towel again to dry his tears.

“I think I killed a child, a long time ago.”

The Swiss wasn’t easily shocked but even without looking at him, Victor knew he was staying still behind him.

“You… think?” he whispered.

“I’m not even sure it’s real. I can’t find him anywhere, I know his name, but no one heard about him, it’s like he never existed.” He turned around and met his competitor’s wide green eyes. “I sound crazy, right? I might be.”

“You’re tired. We’re getting out of there, put these on.”

He gave him a bag filled with a set of clothes. They weren’t his. Of course they weren’t, Victor’s clothes needed to be washed. All of them. He had been wearing his last clean shirt yesterday. Once dressed, he called a taxi, because Chris couldn’t speak Russian and refused to go outside hoping to find one like he had done to get there.

The driver stopped at Yakov’s house, and both men were welcomed by the grumpy coach. The silver-haired champion could have sworn his scowl hid how worried he was. A bath had been prepared for him, as if the shower hadn’t been enough.

He spent the whole day in a daze, but managed to smile at Chris, who stayed with him instead of going to the rink or doing the touristy things he was supposed to do when he visited another country for leisure. They ate, watched movies and perhaps what Victor needed was a little bit of peace and a change of air to spend a dreamless night, because his nap went undisturbed, and when Chris finally left and Yakov forbid his student from going back to his dump of an apartment, he was relieved.

Before the day ended, Yakov made him sign a new contract: Victor’s behavior stopped today, or he would lose his coach. The older man had had enough.

If little Yuuri really existed, perhaps he wasn’t completely gone, perhaps he was watching over him. What Victor did last night was too much, he went too far. He was self-destructing and he knew it, but tonight he didn’t hear the insults the voice usually told him.

It was like something had suddenly put a stop to the spiral he was stuck in for the past few weeks. His world had been turned upside down so quickly that he couldn’t learn how to adapt to it - and now it felt like it was turning back again, just because Chris took care of him so well earlier. Someone cared about him, and the level of dedication the Swiss had shown today reminded him of Yuuri.

He remembered feeling this way when he landed his jump instead of nearly killing himself, back in Fukuoka, even if it might not have been real at all. One minute he was gasping for air with no way out, the next he breathed again.

He even laughed at himself and at the nonsense that his life had become. Getting out of his apartment might have saved him, and Yakov had been smart: he knew Victor didn’t listen to him… maybe he actually asked Chris to travel all the way to Russia to help him.

Or maybe there was someone else behind all of it. He opened the window and looked at the dark sky, then sighed.

“Hey, little Yuuri, I’m sorry if you had to watch me hurt myself. I’m not okay, but I’ll try. Thank you for today, if you’re behind it.”

He closed the window and noticed a small blue flower blooming on top of Yakov's favourite cactus. It hadn't been there a second ago, and instead of taking it as a sign of Yuuri's presence, he saw it as a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry T_T I hesitated for a while before posting this, but I think it was important to show what guilt did to Victor. It became much darker than planned as I was writing it, so I'm not entirely satisfied with how suddenly his mood changes.


	9. St.Petersburg

Victor cut his hair.

He needed to get his life back in order before the new season started, or he would lose more than his precious sleep. He decided to start with small steps when he woke up the morning after being dragged out of his apartment by a worried Chris. He jokingly said it was so he could be healthy enough to go back to his place instead of staying with Yakov, since it didn’t exactly please him to see his grumpy face constantly. Deep down he knew he just didn’t want to go back. 

His apartment never felt like home, not in the way the ice did, and he knew it should have. He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable living there, especially not after four years. Victor moved in at eighteen, his only criteria being that the apartment should be close to the rink. He earned more than enough money to find a much better place now, and he wondered if he should start looking for one. So, he went for a walk just after rush hours, his skates in an expensive sports bag for later, hoping to take a peek at some of the buildings in the neighborhood but getting distracted each time his hair brushed against his face. He acted on impulse, and entered the first salon he found.

Now, he felt like he could finally breathe. He kept glancing at his reflection when he could see it and briefly wondered if little Yuuri would like him with short hair too. He probably would. Victor decided to thank him with more than words, and the more he thought about it, the less silly it sounded, because even if the boy hadn’t actually existed, he had been real in Victor’s heart for a short time. 

He could look for an apartment later. He had something more important to do, and he stepped closer to the road until a taxi stopped for him. He focused on the stickers adorning the back of the driver’s seat, a trail of tiny blue flowers, then sighed when his eyes noticed the dark clouds above the city. There was no time for him to wish the sun would shine: the taxi stopped in front of the ice rink. 

He frowned.

Not the correct rink. How stupid of him. He didn’t even realize the car wasn’t going where he wanted. He was about to ask to be taken to his usual training facility when he suddenly felt drawn to the unfamiliar building. He paid the driver and, once the car left, found himself completely alone in a district he had never been to before. He had no idea where he was, but still walked up the few steps to the double door. 

There was nobody at the reception. He leaned on the counter and tapped his fingers after calling out and hearing a muffled acknowledgement. A dusty CD player filled the air with jazz, which Victor never liked, and next to it stood a vase holding blue flowers. He ignored it. Finally, a skinny old man with greasy black hair appeared in front of him and laughed when he asked to rent the rink for a few hours. He said no one ever came here and the rink was empty, so if he wanted to use it, the ice would need to be smoothed first, but there was no trouble. Victor paid him handsomely to keep away anyone who might still decide to come in, and while the ice was being prepared for him he laced his golden bladed skates.

Once the noise of the machine stopped, the silver-haired man stepped on the ice and as soon as the owner closed the door to leave him alone, he performed his latest free program, changing the components to keep his energy. He skated with his eyes closed for a short moment and smiled, feeling free from the darkness he had just barely escaped from.

He stopped abruptly when he heard the sound of another skater next to him. He turned around. There was nobody there. He glided backwards, paying attention to his surroundings, and here it was, like an echo of his own skates cutting through the thin white surface. He shuddered, and the lights flickered.

He felt like he was being watched, and it angered him. He asked if anyone was there, but received no reply, only the same sound, now louder.

He hit the plastic wall surrounding the ice and gazed at the large emptiness in front of him, so sinister under malfunctioning light bulbs. He wanted to run. Something in him screamed, but he silenced it. He knew he had to stay.

The hair on his arms stood up. The scraping sound of blades on the ice echoed even faster. 

The lights went out, then a single one, weak and pulsating like a heart, illuminated the center of the rink. Victor’s couldn’t breathe. A man landed a quadruple flip where no one stood just a second earlier. Black hair slicked back, body clad in a translucent dark blue veil that hid nothing of his elegant curves and strong, lithe muscles, hands outstretched, he bent his back in an unsupported Y-spiral. 

He watched, transfixed, while goosebumps covered his arms. This person was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, yet there was something disturbing about him. He couldn’t put it into words. The way he moved seemed ethereal, until he appeared to dance under a stroboscope, all angles, abrupt gestures making it difficult to focus on him. The only time Victor had seen that before, outside of a club, was in horror movies.

He remembered a sentence that always stuck with him, something a kid had said at one of Yakov’s summer training camp a long time ago, when they told scary stories before bed.

 

_ If you can see it, it can see you too _

 

It sounded silly, but not right now, because the skater’s eyes, two glowing pits of fire, locked with his. Pushed by recklessness or fascination, Victor left his “safe” spot and took the other man’s hand between his shivering fingers. Up close, the man’s eyes weren’t glowing, they were just brown with a hint of red and Victor’s fear vanished. 

He was real. His skin was hot, his crooked smile charming, his body to die for. He was…

“Yuuri…?”

Arms laced behind his back, bringing them closer until he could smell strawberry on the gorgeous black-haired skater’s breath. He didn’t dare touch him, afraid he couldn’t contain himself, not when the only thing covering him left nothing to the imagination, but Yuuri delightfully grinded his hips against his, and the tip of a pink tongue tasted Victor’s lips. 

“Dance with me, Victor.”

The voice came from inside his head. Victor blinked, and Yuuri was gone. The lights came back, blinding him, and he became all too aware of the tightness of his pants and the erratic, unnatural rhythm of his heartbeat. 

 

 

*

 

 

Victor called Chris when he left the rink. He found a park close-by, sat on a bench away from the main walking trail and opened a bag of dried figs, glancing at the clouds and hoping it wouldn't rain. He told his friend he felt better today so he wouldn’t worry, and he took the time to apologize for his behavior and to thank him for getting him out. He hung up after Chris invited him out to eat the next day, and closed his eyes. Yuuri. This had been too real to be an hallucination. He could still feel his warmth. He also knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions because the Yuuri he knew was a child whose only resemblance with the seductive skater was his eyes, but he was absolutely certain it was him. He hoped the picture of his incredible dance, engraved in his head, would destroy the horrifying images he saw in his dreams, where the cute kid was strangled by spiky vines until only a mess of bloody limbs remained, only to grow back to repeat the cycle the next night. Visions of Hell. He shuddered at the thought. Were his dreams real as well? Did Yuuri suffer, wherever he went, to pay the price of the wish he offered him? It wouldn’t be worth it. He had to see him again. He needed to be sure, and to ask for forgiveness. 

It might not even be Yuuri. It could be something else luring him into a world of madness, but he already crossed that line when he remembered, after the Olympics. However, if it was Yuuri, Victor would do anything to see him again.

His finished his last fig, called a taxi and went back to Yakov’s house. It was empty. The older man was most likely at the rink, teaching his newest Junior skater, a red-haired girl named Mila. Victor took his time to enjoy a long shower, turning it into a bath to soothe his sore, beaten up body. While his newly-cut hair dried, he prepared a cup of tea and put so much sugar in it that he could almost hear Yakov screaming at him. He was getting hungry and ordered some Thai food for delivery. 

Choosing a book in his coach’s collection, a surprisingly varied and modern selection of authors, he lay on the fluffy couch, waiting for his meal. He liked the quiet, wide open space of the living room, finding it much easier to relax in than back at his apartment. He needed a place similar to this one, with a large window. 

He finished a chapter before the doorbell rang, then ate his dinner without feeling the weight of loneliness on his shoulders. It was all thanks to his experience on the ice earlier. It would crush him if it hadn’t been his Yuuri, so he clung to his hopes.

When he threw the empty box away, the delicious taste of grilled shrimp and lime still on his tongue, he drank more tea, discarding the idea of pouring himself a glass of alcohol. He looked at his reflection in the mirror when he walked down the hallway, smiling at his new look, then picked up the book he had left on the couch. 

When he opened it, instead of his usual plastic bookmark, he found a dried blue flower. The petals were the same deep colour as the translucent veils barely hiding the strange, unknown skater’s body - Yuuri’s body, Victor repeated silently as if he still needed convincing. Spooked, but not enough to hide under his bed, he swore to pay more attention to his surroundings. None of these flowers appeared without a reason, he understood it now. He walked back to his room and put the flower on the empty desk, refusing to throw it away. Just like the previous night, he opened the window and spoke to the darkening skies. 


	10. Interlude - 3

When Yuuri walked, he left blue petals behind him. He slept on a bed of hydrangea behind the shrine and more often than not, had to pick a blue variety of agapanthus out of his hair. None of the haunters on the hill knew where these flowers came from. They first appeared when the boy snuck away to the ice rink, after he made the exhilarating discovery that he was actually free to roam the sleepy town of Hasetsu.

The kind spirit wanted to keep him at the shrine, but couldn’t stand the thought of trapping his dear little Yuuri in the same way he had been before a wish freed him. After all, he wasn’t so little anymore. Yuuri, unlike him, was still very much alive, and if he hadn’t given his wish to the silver-haired skater he admired so much, he would be going to University now. He was only the spirit’s little one because he would always be the baby he had brought back to life.

The ice however uncovered a new side of Yuuri, one the spirit never thought he would witness, and it scared him. It awoke human needs and desires, transformed and stirred innocent feelings into something he always wanted to protect Yuuri from.

The spirit was familiar with it all, in the worst way. Yuuri still loved the Russian skater but his love had evolved, just like the spirit feared. He thought taking him away from the world would protect him from falling for someone, he thought he could spare him the pain he had gone through, but he was wrong, and the Other, the naked, broken spirit Yuuri still couldn’t see, reveled in the whirlwind of new emotions the little one experienced. They _amused_ him.

“You know what will happen soon,” the Other whispered one day when the kind spirit worried. Yuuri had been gone longer than usual.

His jaw and fists clenched. Of course he knew. At sunset on Yuuri’s twentieth birthday, the fragile barrier between him and the human world would crumble and Yuuri would have to choose. Stay, and haunt the hill with him, who had been his friend and protector since birth, or live again amongst mortals. All it would take was another wish and he could be gone.

“You also know what you _don’t_ want to know if he chooses to live,” the Other continued, smirking.

Images of bloody vines flashed before him, crawling up the stairs until the kind spirit repelled them, his white tunic floating in the wind. If Yuuri was at the wrong place when the sky turned red and orange… he couldn’t bear to think about it. If only he had thought about securing the hill so that he could never leave it! If only he was allowed to tell him what to choose, to reveal the Other’s presence! If he so much as hinted at it, his own suffering would reflect on the poor boy, and he could never harm him.

For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless. Shackles seemed to restrain his ankles and if he blinked, he pictured the walls of a prison around him and heard the venomous hatred from all those who thought he had killed their beloved Emperor, his wife, and his child. He imagined Yuuri screaming for help with his own broken voice while he watched his body being torn apart.

He and Yuuri shared an uncanny resemblance now that the boy was older. It horrified him.

“What are you thinking about?”

He turned around, startled, only to find the boy grinning behind him. Once he had been too tall to fit into the clothes he had been wearing when he started haunting the hill, Yuuri had been wrapped in eerie veils that changed color depending on his mood. The kind spirit’s fear vanished and he offered him a warm smile.

“I was just wondering when you’d come back,” he replied softly, caressing Yuuri’s cheek. He looked gorgeous, slightly flushed and strangely giddy.

“I saw Victor,” he confided, and the spirit’s eyes widened. “He’s still skating. I’m so happy! But he was tired and I don’t think he’s eating properly.”

How? How could Yuuri see the skater?

“Is he here in Hasetsu?”

“Of course not. I was skating and suddenly I wasn’t in Japan anymore, there was Russian written everywhere, and Victor was dancing alone, so I danced with him.”

He tried to block the Other’s laughter from his mind and did his best to keep smiling.

“Did this happen before?”

“No. But you know the best part? He saw me! He recognized me, and I could touch him.”

He couldn’t believe it, and struggled to stay calm. This shouldn’t happen. There was no way anyone could see Yuuri, or any of them. There might be a link between both men due to Yuuri’s sacrifice, but how strong could these things be? The only link he knew of was the one he, himself, built with the little one by saving his life… and Yuuri indirectly saved Victor’s.

When he looked to his left and saw the blue of the Other’s eye, he froze. What colour were Victor’s eyes? Could they be the same incredible blue? What would it mean if they were, and how could Yuuri appear in another country, as if his soul knew exactly where to show up to be seen by the right person?

The risk of Yuuri choosing to come back to the living world was growing. He watched him as he hummed a lullaby, rearranging his bed of hydrangea. Yuuri’s happiness still prevented him from seeing the darkness around him, or the one that followed him everywhere. He wondered how it looked like to Victor when the boy appeared, and hoped, for Yuuri’s sake, that he didn’t scare him. He knew, better than anyone else, how different Yuuri acted on the ice and how terrifying a ghostly apparition could be, even from the sweetest person in the world.

Another fear joined his worries when he noticed the Other was gone. The Other wasn’t restricted like he was, and he was twisted enough to, perhaps, force Yuuri down a path the boy would never chose for himself. A sick feeling overwhelmed him: what was he planning, and how could he stop him? A tear ran down his pale cheek and he was thankful that Yuuri didn’t see it. He couldn’t stop him. He could never stop him. All he could do was pray to the Gods who had cursed him. Perhaps they liked Yuuri. Perhaps they could help.

How naive of him. Obviously, if any God actually existed, they would just watch them suffer.

The kind spirit didn't let himself fall prey to anger easily. That was the Other's job. But today, he started cultivating a small part of himself, turning it darker. No one would ever help Yuuri when the time came, so he would do it himself. Even if it meant freeing the Other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a big difference between how Yuuri views his meeting with Victor, and how Victor saw it, because there was nothing creepy about it from Yuuri's point of view, but for Victor, if you remove his feelings for Yuuri and his relief, the whole scene could appear rather nightmarish.  
> I wish I could draw bodies because his apparition in the previous chapter is illustration worthy. I might commission something.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, another note, but you probably noticed I tend to switch between British and American spelling and expressions, sorry about that ^^; I'm self-taught, mostly, and I learned English from my friends who come from all over the globe, or from both British and American books and movies. That means I mix things up constantly.


	11. St.Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switches midway ^^

It took six weeks for Victor to find a therapist he felt comfortable with. The idea of visiting one in the first place had repulsed him, and the first few he talked to made him want to lie over and over again and never come back. He didn’t feel lighter after their session, he felt worse. The last one however was a woman who had her own private practice in the suburbs and there was no tension in Victor’s body when she greeted him. He knew it could work, and trusted her, something he was lacking with all the others. She also acknowledged the fact that Victor had taken the first steps towards recovery by himself and had done a fantastic job. He didn’t tell her about what he had seen on the ice or about anything that could have him locked up but he did mention his guilt, trying to make it clear that he was beginning to believe his nightmares were real, but _ forgetting  _ to mention the haunted ice rink.

It took three more weeks for him to finally move into another apartment. He was growing tired of Yakov’s presence around him and needed his own space. His belongings, left in the old flat, were given away to charity after being washed and repaired. He didn’t want any of his old things polluting his mind. Money wasn’t an issue, and it felt amazing to buy brand new clothes and furniture. He spent a lot of time with Chris on Skype, discussing home décor, a weird choice of conversation since all they normally talked about revolved around sex. 

It took one more week for Victor to realize that he had no desire to drink, party, or find a one night stand anymore. If he fell asleep while thinking about the incredible body of the ghostly skater, the intensity of his nightmares lessened and he mostly didn’t remember them in the morning.

It didn’t mean he was out of the woods. He still had bad days, they wouldn’t go away easily, but he was proud of himself for getting back on his feet. 

His new apartment was conveniently located in the residential area surrounding the old ice rink where Yuuri appeared. It was a modern, luxury penthouse with massive windows in a highly secured complex, something he would never have been able to afford only a year ago - his Olympic medal had brought him more sponsorship money that he could ever dream of. He had a deal with the owner of his flat: he would rent it for a few months, and buy it if he liked it. He wanted to call it his own.

Every morning, he woke up rested and ready to skate. He had tea of coffee on his brand new blue couch, eyes darting towards the sunlight, which enveloped the living room in a soft glow. He would do the same at sunset, then have a light meal, perhaps watch a movie or read one of the books he took from Yakov’s library (with the man’s permission - maybe), and he would relax in his giant bathtub before heading to bed. It was the way he lived his life before he remembered Yuuri, with the exception of the tub, since his old apartment only had a small one he couldn’t even fit in. Not to mention his noisy neighbors and the old corridors. He wondered if he should get a dog. 

His days were spent at the rink with Yakov and a handful of other skaters, but his coach refused to push him too hard until he was ready, and often sent him away after lunch, either for a therapist appointment or to spend some time enjoying the city. Sometimes, instead of listening to him, he headed to the old rink, hoping to see Yuuri again.

He only saw him briefly, when no one was around. He learned not to fear flickering lights anymore as they announced his arrival, and for the most part, he watched him quietly. At first, his body awakened Victor’s desire and set his whole being on fire, but little by little he started to feel more than lust. They never talked, and Yuuri didn’t approach him like he had previously - no more teasing tongue, just a hand wrapped around his own, while they launched themselves into an improvised pair skate. 

Today blessed Victor with another dance, and he heard Yuuri’s laugh for the first time. It sounded like these melodies you hear once and immediately decide to listen to all day. Like one of these rare songs you never get tired of no matter how many times you play it on repeat. Yuuri was laughing, because Victor lifted him above the ice. Was he ticklish? Or just having so much fun he couldn’t stop? When they faced each other, the silver-haired skater couldn’t believe how beautiful Yuuri looked when he smiled. His feelings confused him. His desire for him had evolved into more complicated emotions and it all happened so quickly it made him dizzy.

He was attracted to him because of his attitude when he saw him skate for the first time. Not a love at first sight story, but “lust at first sight”, which happened to him regularly with any good-looking man - and happened to everyone outside the asexual spectrum. When he convinced himself it was Yuuri, his attraction changed slowly, until he found himself thinking about him most of the time and missing their pair skate. He didn’t want to let him fade into the void again.

“Can we talk?” he whispered, breathless after so much effort.

Yuuri cocked his head to the side and let himself be dragged towards the exit after nodding. Victor let go of his hand briefly to put his skate guards on and, fearing a sudden disappearance, held his hand again as quickly as possible. It amused Yuuri, who chuckled, and stepped off the ice.

The lights came back on instantly. He heard a whimper and his eyes widened as Yuuri crashed on the cold floor and started shivering violently. Panic invaded him. He was naked. The veil, the skates, everything was gone. Yuuri’s feet were covered in bloody blisters, his skin rubbed raw. He looked up, gasping for air, the confusion in his large brown eyes heartbreaking. Victor grabbed his Olympic jacket and covered him with it, kneeling down.

“Yuuri? Are you okay? I’ll get you some pants, can you get up?”

He saw fear on his face when he shook his head, and it gripped his throat. Yuuri looked at his own body, trembling, and let out a squeak when Victor picked him up and carried him to the nearest bench. The older skater told him he would be right back, then ran to the locker room as quickly as his skates allowed him to, picking up his bag and shoes and hurrying back to Yuuri’s side. The poor boy’s lips had turned blue. Victor swore, removed his skates, then offered him his regular clothes, keeping his training gear on. Yuuri was still shaking when fully dressed and a part of Victor’s mind realized how adorable he looked with clothes too big for him, but most of the young man’s brain was too worried to coo. He called a taxi, even if he lived only a few blocks away, because he only had one pair of shoes.

Yuuri managed to stand up, grabbed Victor’s hand and stopped in front of the glass door leading to the reception area of the rink. Victor bit his lips and tugged him closer to warm him up and reassure him.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, I don’t understand what happened.”

“I don’t understand either,” he said, his voice so low Victor could barely hear it. “V-Victor, where are we?”

He frowned. Yuuri didn’t know where he skated?

“St.Petersburg. I live close-by, nobody uses this rink so I like to train alone here.”

“But I’m always in Hasetsu when I skate! Even when you’re with me.”

“Yuuri.” There was nothing left of the sexy skater who enthralled Victor so often on the ice; only a terrified young man with messy hair and eyes shining with unshed tears, fingers tight around his wrist, refusing to let go. “Yuuri,” he repeated softly, “I won’t hurt you. I’ll help you, with whatever you need. But for now, you need food and rest. We’re going to my place. Is it okay?”

“I thought I was dreaming, I didn’t think you were real, I only hoped you were but it made no sense because why would you be in Hasetsu and now we’re in Russia and I-”

Victor grabbed his shoulders and peered into his eyes.

“Breathe. We’ll discuss everything at home.”

It took a minute, but Yuuri finally calmed down enough to breathe normally, Victor’s arms around him, protecting him. He didn’t try to push him away, so the silver-haired skater kept him close even during the ride home. He paid the driver, and carried Yuuri to the elevator despite his protests. The floor was clean, but cold, and Yuuri was only wearing socks.

 

 

*

 

 

To say that Yuuri was lost was an understatement. He had no idea how he managed to teleport to Russia, of all places, and to make his way back into the Human world. It was one thing for Victor to see him, but the taxi driver noticed him as well, so he knew he was back, somehow.

At the shrine, he never felt the cold of the night or the warmth of the sun, he forgot what hunger was and only slept because the kind spirit told him it would be best - and when he slept, he dreamed of Victor, and he liked it. Now, though? It was almost summer in St.Petersburg, but even Victor told him today was strangely cold for the season. To Yuuri, it was like stepping into a freezer.

Then there was the pain, something he also forgot about. It was like his body was now feeling every little wound his reckless skating had caused, because why would he be careful when nothing hurt? Finally, he was ashamed. His act of seduction on the ice existed only because a part of him didn’t think it was anything more than a very realistic vision, and because skating gave him a confidence he lacked otherwise. He had only done it once, stopping when he started to think his experience with Victor had actually been real. 

Growing up at the shrine, he missed out on every single opportunity to discover what teenagers felt, but he observed them. Sometimes, he went to school with the local kids, eager to learn, knowing full well no one could even guess his presence, and he was no stranger to love and attraction after witnessing confessions and behaviors he should have waited to be eighteen to spy on. Victor, whom he loved dearly from a young age, crossed the line between unconditional love and sexual attraction when he was  suffering through puberty (unfairly, since he was supposed to be a ghost), but Yuuri never needed to worry about rejection, since nothing could happen between them. 

Now, he found himself in Victor’s apartment. In his bathtub. Which was so big, it reminded him of his parents’ hot springs. His wounds stung under the soapy waters but he didn’t care. He felt warm and cared for. He could hear Victor walking around.

What would he have done without him? If he suddenly found himself back among the living, naked and alone, in a foreign country? He guessed that the act of exiting the ice rink triggered his return but he couldn’t be sure. Would he disappear again if he skated? Despite his initial panic, he wanted to stay, at least for a little while. He would miss the spirit of the shrine and he hoped he could find a way to talk to him and get some answers, but he had Victor, who smiled at him with such gentleness it made his throat dry.

A knock at the bathroom door startled him. Hidden under a sea of bubbles, he told Victor to come in, and offered him a shy smile.

The Russian looked even prettier now, dressed in regular clothes. He noticed he seemed healthier than a few weeks ago, and he almost lost himself in his wonderful blue eyes before realizing he was being spoken to. His cheeks reddened. He apologized.

“Don’t worry about it,” Victor replied, sitting on the toilet lid, holding a bathrobe. “Food’s ready, if you want to get out.”

He hesitated. He was hungry - hunger was such a weird concept - but the water was so nice… Victor looked amused.

“You can take as many baths as you want but beef Stroganoff tastes better when it’s hot. Do you need any help?”

Yuuri didn’t, but he wanted him to stay. He rinsed his body while the water was drained, then stepped out of the tub, hissing as his sore feet hit the floor, but laughing as soon as Victor wrapped him in a giant towel and rubbed him vigorously. It reminded him of his mom taking care of him as a child. He was then enveloped in the softest bathrobe and was given slippers that looked like Victor stole them from a hotel room. The older skater gave him a hair dryer and pointed at the towel rack, where clean clothes waited for him.

“You can wear those. They’ll be too big but they’ll do for today. When you’re ready, join me, the kitchen is right across the hall. I’ll make some tea.”

There were no blue flowers following Yuuri’s steps as he dried his hair, no petal falling from his fingers as he got dressed in Victor’s most comfortable white sweater and black leggings. He decided he liked the scent of the laundry he used. Grinning, he put on a pair of fluffy socks, and headed towards the smell of food. Victor cooked for him. His first meal in years was made by the man of his dreams. The thought made him giddy.

He looked around when he walked out of the bathroom. He didn’t take the time to observe his surroundings earlier, too scared and stressed to care, and now he appreciated the cleanliness of the apartment. It lacked the homey feeling his own parents’ house always had, but Victor told him he moved in recently. No doubt it would look great in a few months. Finding his way to the living room and the open kitchen, he smiled at the Russian who just finished serving tea. He knew they needed to talk, but neither of them appeared ready for it. He sat down and barely waited for Victor before tasting his food.

He liked it so much it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“Don’t burn your tongue,” Victor teased. 

“You cooked this?”

“Mh. I don’t cook often and I only have a few recipes. I’m confident with that one. Is it good?”

“I love it!”

He caught a glimpse of joy in the other skater’s eyes and continued to eat. He remembered his mother telling him to chew properly and slowly, so he did, struggling slightly with the knife and fork, and nearly choking when he forgot how to swallow for a split second. He told Victor about his favourite food, which led to a discussion about kitchen disasters which, in Yuuri’s case, were mostly just him putting salt in his father’s coffee. By the time their plates were empty, they were laughing together like old friends. The already small distance between them reduced to nothing. With a new cup of tea in their hands, they moved to the couch and Victor asked Yuuri if he wanted to watch a movie. He chose the only Ghibli movie the Russian owned.

How could everything be so normal, so right, when just a few hours ago, Yuuri was a spirit haunting a renovated shrine? He knew things wouldn’t stay simple for long, if he didn’t vanish again, and he was starting to wonder what the kind spirit was talking about recently, when he spoke of choices… and who he was talking to, when he thought Yuuri wasn’t around.

There was a spot on the hill where grass didn’t grow, around the pillar of the torii gate wrapped in spiky vines. The kind spirit avoided it. Yuuri had spent a carefree existence with him, surrounded with love, and he felt just as good with Victor. Could this really last? Was there more to all this, and what would be the consequences of his presence here?

He closed his eyes and rested his head on Victor’s shoulder, driving these toxic thoughts away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be wondering where Makkachin is. I find it hard to write about dogs, because I *gasp* am not a dog person at all (bad memories when I was a kid). So, Makkachin is not here. Victor will be adopting him soon, because YOI needs Makkachin, but the dog will stay in the background.
> 
> Another thing, because I know it will be confusing: in the previous chapter, it was mentioned that Yuuri would have a choice to make at 20. It's not exactly a wish, and by dragging him out in the world of the living before he was 20, Victor screwed something up.


	12. St.Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Fluff everywhere.

When Victor woke up the next morning, it was to the loud buzz of his phone, which was angrily vibrating on the glass table in front of the couch. The skater knew he was in trouble when he realized how high the sun was in the sky, and he scrambled to answer the call, keeping the phone away from his ear. 

He stirred while Yakov screamed at him. His back ached. His couch might be comfortable but not for a whole night. With a yawn, he waited until his coach finished ranting, and cheerfully told him that, unlike what he believed, he didn’t spend the night out drinking or having violent sex. Yakov sputtered, ready to explode again.

“I’m actually catching up on sleep, I watched a movie last night and went to bed late,” the silver-haired man explained. “I can come on my day off instead.”

“You better be there at dawn! You’re lucky I had another student today. You won’t be ready for any competition if you slack off so much.”

“I’m glad you worry about my health, Yakov.”

The angry man hung up with a huff, and Victor turned his attention to the window. It was such a gorgeous day. When was the last time he appreciated the weather? He walked towards the window and opened it, welcoming the fresh air. He congratulated himself for choosing this apartment, because a few trees lined up the street below and the wind brought the scent of their flowers and leaves to him. He wondered what he should do with his sudden day off. Take a shower, cook something nice, maybe take a walk, have a coffee somewhere… As he was pondering what to eat for breakfast, he suddenly remembered why he slept on the couch in the first place. Or, rather, Yuuri reminded him of his presence by creeping up on him silently.

Victor yelped and was rewarded by the boy’s laughter. Placing a hand on his chest, his heart beating too fast after being so surprised, he smiled fondly, seeing how cute Yuuri looked right now. His hair was sticking out in every direction, the skin of his left cheek marked by the pillow, his reddish-brown eyes shining in amusement and his body hidden under a white sheet trailing behind him.

“Hi,” Yuuri chirped. “You look blurry.”

“Hi to you too. What do you mean, blurry? Do you need glasses?”

Yuuri frowned and nodded after a few seconds.

“I wore glasses before,” he remembered.

“Then we’ll get you a new pair. And clothes.”

“And shoes.”

He chuckled. There was a warmth radiating from Yuuri, that made him feel blissfully happy, all his worries forgotten. He couldn’t believe he could talk to him, see him, touch him, outside of the nearly abandoned ice rink. There were many questions left unanswered, so many Victor wouldn’t know where to start, but for now, he just wanted to enjoy Yuuri’s company. A growl interrupted his quiet contemplation.

“Come on, let’s get you some clothes, and then we’ll eat.”

“I’d like something with sugar, if you can? I’m sorry, I’m imposing on you, it’s just- I missed food so much!”

That cleared up the question Victor wanted to ask next. His smile widened and he led the younger man back to the bedroom, finding a change in the air. There was a slight difference from the smell he was used to, it was a mix of his own scent and Yuuri’s. He decided he liked it. Yuuri sat on the bed, looking around curiously, while the silver-haired skater dove into his wardrobe filled with brand new clothes, most of them with the tag still attached. He quickly found a box at the bottom, something he didn’t throw away or sell: his Russian Team outfit, the first one he received, at fifteen. It had always been special to him. He then found a pair of socks and briefs, placed everything on the bed and grinned at his guest.

“I think it’s only thing that will fit you well enough until I buy you your own clothes,” he explained, and Yuuri caressed the worn fabric of the blue, white and red jacket, awe painted on his face.

“You were wearing it when we met,” he recalled.

Victor resisted the urge to hug him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember-”

“I never forgot. How could I? My dream came true that day, and now I’m here, with you, in your home, and I don’t know when I’ll realize that it’s real but when I do, I’ll probably freak out,” he whispered soflty.

“Let me know when it happens. I’ll help.”

Nodding, he cast him a shy glance, and Victor excused himself to let him get dressed. Still in a slight daze, he decided to prepare a simple breakfast instead of the feast he envisioned, his plans for the day changing completely. He wanted to please Yuuri,  but he could cook something fancy another day. While the bread was in the toaster, he placed raspberry and apricot jam on the table and prepared hot cocoa, choosing tea for himself. It was so… domestic. It felt great. When Yuuri joined him, he almost cooed.

“It suits you,” he said instead, and the boy blushed.

They ate slowly, enjoying each other’s company. Victor wrote a list of basic items they’d have to buy and snickered at the brown mark left above Yuuri’s mouth when he drank his cocoa. He showed him the list once it was completed, waiting for his input. The Japanese squinted, struggling to read without his glasses.

“That’s a lot… are you sure it’s fine?”

“It’s not like you have any of those with you. Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t need this,” he pointed at the fleece blanket.

“It doesn’t matter, I want to spoil you.”

“But Victor! Skates, too? I can’t! It’s too expensive!”

“Let me. Please. You saved my life. I don’t think I’d be here today if you didn’t cure me and now you’re saving me a second time. I was in a very bad place a few weeks ago, but then I saw you again and it changed everything. Let me thank you. I’ll take care of you.”

Hesitant and flushed, Yuuri scribbled a quick “toothbrush” at the bottom of the list.

“That’s more like it!” Victor exclaimed, realizing he hadn’t smiled so much, or so genuinely, in years. “Now, if there is anything you want when we’re at the mall, let me know. It can even be a rice cooker. Ah, you probably want your own room too. I don’t use the one across the hall anyway. We’ll order furniture.”

At this, Yuuri looked horrified and the Russian blinked.

“You don’t want to live with me?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“I… I do.”

He sighed in relief and passed a hand through his hair. It wasn’t like Yuuri had a choice and both of them were aware of it. As far as they knew, Yuuri would be considered an illegal immigrant, or worse. He had no passport, and according to Victor’s previous researches, when he vanished, he actually ceased to exist. There was no mention of him anywhere, no one went missing in Hasetsu in decades and he wasn’t registered with the JSF. It scared him to think of the nightmare it would be to get him registered at the immigration office, or what would happen to him if he was found. Keeping his expression free of concerns, he washed their plates and mugs, and called a taxi.

 

 

*

 

 

Their shopping list was endless, Yuuri’s protests getting weaker and weaker as the day progressed, once he understood that Victor wouldn’t back down and actually had a bottomless pit full of money instead of a normal bank account. They asked for most of the clothes to be shipped to the apartment, unable to carry so many bags between them (Victor still pouted at Yuuri’s choice of brand - or lack of - though he did buy him a designer coat while he was busy trying on shoes in a nearby shop).

“It looks fantastic on you,” he purred, admiring the flattering shape of his not-so-secret purchase. Yuuri, now wearing glasses again, was already dressed with some of the clothes they just bought, because the Russian Team jacket attracted too much attention. It was now safely tucked inside a bag.

“I’m not leaving you alone anymore,” the boy replied.

Victor hummed, ignoring the whispers of a group of people who obviously knew who he was. His eyes darted towards a bedroom furniture store, or rather, towards a giant sushi pillow on display.

“Oooh Yuuri look at this, you need it! Tell me you need it!”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t like sushi?”

“I don’t need a sushi pillow.”

“Yuuuuuri!”

“No.”

Their eyes met. Finally, Yuuri groaned and poked Victor’s arm.

“If you find a skating themed pillow and duvet cover you can get it for me.”

Giddy, Victor dragged him inside the store. They started to look for a single bed, Yuuri insisting that he seriously didn’t care what they bought, and the Russian eventually choosing a double bed, arguing that it was his apartment and having a single bed in the guest room would be stupid. Yuuri agreed quickly. Of course, Victor wasn’t thinking of the room as anything but Yuuri’s already, but he would try to keep his enthusiasm in check. What if he scared him away? Did Yuuri feel like they had been close friends for years, just like Victor did? The atmosphere around them was the one that could only be found with people who couldn’t leave each other’s side, best friends or even lovers. It was a calming blend of trust, comfort and happiness. If only a few dances on the ice created such a strong bond between them, Victor couldn’t wait to see where it would lead. He doubted Yuuri was going along with his whims because he had nothing else to do, nowhere to go, and no one to talk to. The way his eyes sparkled when he looked at him told the Russian skater how much he cared about him. 

The furniture shipment secured, they headed to the top level of the mall for lunch, discussing Yuuri’s preferences for interior décor. Victor laughed when his adorable friend sheepishly admitted he wanted a poster of him framed on his walls. They found a few in a craft store, Yuuri choosing one from Victor’s junior days, saying it would serve as a memory of their first meeting (the clerk almost choked when she greeted them. Perhaps there would be a new headline tomorrow. **BREAKING NEWS:** **Victor Nikiforov Buys Posters Of Himself** ).

Finally, as the sun started to set, they exited the last store, away from the mall, Yuuri carrying a brand new sports bag containing training clothes and a gorgeous pair of skates. He looked exhausted but so happy it made Victor swoon.

There were no dark clouds in the Russian's mind anymore. He pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

“V-Victor!”

“What?” 

“You- no. Nothing.”

He did it again and this time, Yuuri just chuckled, then laced their fingers together briefly, before putting his hand in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating this Monday or Tuesday. I got very inspired for Tiger Stripes and Smartphones, and then I read a very long fic, so I didn't have the time to get this chapter done.


	13. St.Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update this on Monday or Tuesday! I was way too inspired by Tiger Stripes and Smartphones.  
> \-----  
> This is more or less a filler chapter. It's still important because FLUFF and developing relationship though.

If you asked Christophe Giacometti about Victor’s current whereabouts, the Swiss would refuse to comment and his smile would turn sour. If you asked Yakov Feltsman, he would glare at you angrily and tell you to get lost. If you asked any of his fans, they would worriedly mention the rumors of his degrading health and reckless behavior, but some would recall a post on the Internet, from an anonymous source who swore they had seen their idol in perfect health, shopping with a friend and laughing in a way none of them had seen before. The absence of pictures would normally bring heavy doubt to such a story, but people believed it. It was, after all, the only piece of good news in the midst of all the doom and gloom articles they read lately.

Nobody knew how true all of these stories were, and nobody would understand how Victor’s mood could shift so easily. Especially not Yakov. 

The older man watched in disbelief as Victor landed a perfect quad flip for the first time in weeks and built a whole new choreography from scratch in just a few hours, for his upcoming season. He then visibly shuddered when the silver-haired skater asked for advice on his step sequence, and nearly fainted when he actually listened to said advice.

In all the years Yakov had trained the spoiled skating miracle who stood on the rink today, obedience was a faraway dream. Victor never listened. Victor never asked for anything. Victor was the best and knew it too well.

Today, Victor was smiling like an idiot. He was also humble. His rinkmates eyed him suspiciously.

“I think he’s in love,” a dark-haired young man sighed, lacing his skates - it was Georgi Popovich, who shared the rink with Victor since they were both teenagers.

“Vitya, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Yakov snapped when the man jumped again. 

“But Yakov, I’m flying!”

Victor’s goofiness was always a good sign even if it got annoying quite fast.

“He has a flower in his hair,” Georgi remarked suddenly, blinking owlishly.

Yakov looked ready to leave and never come back. Victor did stop jumping, but kept practicing, looking for the best flow to accompany the music he already had in mind. He only exited the rink when his time on the ice was up, and immediately checked the status of an order he placed earlier for a new phone. Yuuri would need one.

“You better stop your daydreaming nonsense by tomorrow morning, Vitya,” Yakov threatened just as he was about to leave, having already showered and changed.

He just shrugged, a grin still stretching his lips, and headed home.

He felt slightly guilty about leaving Yuuri all alone and he hoped he hadn’t gotten scared during the day. So many years spent observing the world without interfering, without feeling any human need… how strange must this feel? He recalled the first bite of food Yuuri had, how he sat still and tried to remember how to chew and swallow. He pretended he didn’t understand what happened when he saw him wipe the floor on the first day, cheeks burning red, but he knew. Yuuri had to re-learn the basic functions of his body. Accidents happened, and would continue to plague him, so the only thing Victor could do was support him. Even if Yuuri didn’t seem affected by it, the silver-haired man couldn’t stand the idea that, perhaps, the boy cried himself to sleep, burdened by shame. As far as Victor knew, Yuuri forgot something essential about his own body just twice since then (the first one being drinking something when he was thirsty - or actually, recognizing what thirst was). He was confident that by the end of the week, these small inconveniences would be gone.

Reaching the apartment, he pushed the door open. Coming home to find someone there was something he didn’t experience since he left his parents’ house, so he had to take a moment to adjust to the evidence that no, he wasn’t alone anymore. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

The TV was on, the English version of a movie echoing in the hallway. The shoes he bought for Yuuri were near a pair of slippers that he put on after removing his boots and coat. The air smelled like shampoo and soap, Victor’s favourite brand, the scent strong enough to suggest Yuuri had just finished washing up. Walking into the room that had until now been empty, he found several boxes and a brand new bed. He hoped Yuuri didn’t freak out when they delivered it, in case the guys didn’t speak English.

“Yuuri, I’m home!” he eventually declared, so he wouldn’t scare him by appearing unexpectedly.

“Oh! I’ll be right there!” came the answer, muffled by the walls of the bathroom. It was followed by several loud noises that Victor recognized as the contents of a shelf falling into the empty tub. He chuckled.

“You okay?”

“Aaaah I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Yuuri yelled. “Yes I’m okay but the shelf just tilted!”

“Don’t worry about it, it happens all the time.”

Yuuri mumbled incoherently and finally exited the bathroom, wearing a loose sweater and trackpants - a pair Victor bought for him with the excuse that he needed something comfortable to wear at home when he wanted to relax. His hair was wet, his skin still red from the temperature of the water. It must have been pretty high, seeing how puffs of vapor flew out of the room.

“I forgot to turn off the TV,” Yuuri realized.

“How about you finish your movie and I’ll get us something to eat? I’m starving. Did you eat anything today?”

The younger man said he made himself a sandwich and a salad for lunch, then fell on the couch with a “plop”, bringing his knees under his chin. He skipped back to the part he missed during his bath, and Victor observed him. How could someone so cute be such a sexy creature when he still thought what he was doing wasn’t entirely real? It was obvious that Yuuri didn’t have a lot of confidence in himself, but it was also clear that he fully trusted Victor. The legendary skater just hoped he would be good enough for him. His presence made him so ridiculously happy already.

He ended up ordering Thai food and joined Yuuri between the pillows on the couch, because he didn’t want to spend a minute away from him.

 

 

*

 

 

If you asked Victor Nikiforov about what went on in his life, instead of relying on secondhand information from his friends and coach, he would tell you he had been reborn. He would offer you a smile and talk excitedly about new programs under the bewildered gaze of his coach, who never expected him to recover so quickly, or be inspired again after the slump he had been in recently. He would tell you he couldn’t talk for long because he needed to hurry. Someone was waiting for him at home. The press would think of a lover, so would keep quiet. Then you would see longing in his blue eyes, and something else too, something bright, cheerful. Because Victor was falling in love and nothing else mattered.

He woke up one morning with the heat of another body against his back and a slight wetness on his neck. Unused to the sensation, he listened to the slow rhythm of another man’s breath. Being a morning person, his mind cleared up almost instantly. Yuuri. What was he doing in his bed, spooning him? He carefully turned around. The boy nuzzled his chest, his hair tickling Victor’s collarbones. The way he breathed now meant he was awake, but struggling. This was something the Russian learned quickly: Yuuri would sleep until noon if nobody woke him up. It was adorable and annoying at the same time.

“Yuuriiii,” he whispered, still unsure if he should caress his hair or just stay still.

“Nooooo.”

“It’s okay, you can sleep, I’ll prepare breakfast. It’s my day off, you know? I want to spend it together.”

“Mmh. Comfy. Warm. Sleep.”

His lips were pressed against Victor’s naked chest, and while it didn’t bother him, he wasn’t sure Yuuri was awake enough to realize what it did to him. 

“Why are you in my bed anyway?” he asked, hoping it would help, maybe by making Yuuri realize the position they were in, but it just made things worse, because the Japanese exhaled and hugged him closer.

“Bad dream,” he said. “Lonely.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was stupid. I was chased and couldn’t run. It was annoying. But you’re here so it’s all good.”

That was when Victor felt a familiar pressure against his thigh, and decided it was enough. He sat up and Yuuri let him go with a groan. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Yuuri choosing a pillow to cuddle with, now that he was gone.

“Yuuri, what do you want to eat?” he asked, putting on a shirt and sweatpants. 

“Dunno. Don’t care. I have a new friend now,you can go.”

“That’s my pillow.”

“Wrong. It’s my friend. Unlike you, it’s not going anywhere. You’re evil, Victor.”

“Sure I am. I’ll come back to wake you again.”

He left the room, laughing softly, to the sound of Yuuri calling him bad, evil and cruel. He could definitely get used to waking up in his arms. Perhaps he should call Chris and let him know he was more than fine, but somehow he always forgot, living in a bubble of love. He didn't doubt for a second that Yuuri would return his feelings, now he just needed to learn to know him better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will introduce an extra smol angry bean - correction no it won't, not yet XD change of plans!


	14. St.Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, this chapter does not actually introduce the smol angry bean. Sorry :P He's coming soon, but my plan switched so I could make the story (and the romance) progress. Yurio will have a very important role from the moment we see him, and it's not the time for that yet.

The first time they kissed happened after they got caught in the rain. They ate at a fancy Italian restaurant to celebrate the first month since Yuuri came back to the world of the living. They wore designer clothes, and Victor drowned in Yuuri’s shining eyes, feeling himself get drunk on his smile. He couldn’t stop looking at him. The Japanese skater was just so happy, so free, that he was almost glowing. The best part of it all? It never stopped. When Victor woke him up, now that they often shared a bed, Yuuri always beamed at him. When they cooked together, it ended in fits of laughter, and when the Russian came home, Yuuri welcomed him with the sweetest hugs, smelling like whatever he was cooking for him. He was rather good at it: he was a fast learner and followed great recipes. Everyday would end in cuddles. They watched movies, read books, played video games or talked. 

One month, and it felt like years. The best month of Victor’s life. He was hopelessly in love with the younger man.

So when he paid the bill and Yuuri took his hand to walk home, he was too focused on the scent of his cologne to realize that it started to rain. It wasn’t much at first and they just walked faster, but suddenly it was like someone opened a dam in the sky and it came down so violently they couldn’t see in front of them. 

Yuuri screamed then giggled. They started running. 

It took them ten minutes to reach the apartment and by then they were soaking wet and dripping on the floor. Victor’s shoes made gurgling noises that made Yuuri laugh even harder than he already was.

“So much for fancy clothes,” the silver-haired skater groaned, removing layers and layers of wet fabric then helping Yuuri do the same. It was only when they were both standing in the hallway in their (drenched) boxers, out of breath and smiling, that Victor’s resolve broke. He stroked Yuuri’s flushed cheeks with both hands. Yuuri stepped closer, until they breathed the same air. He sought his approval, believing he could see it in his eyes, and took a chance, lips ghosting over his. Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered shut and he let out a soft sigh. 

Encouraged, Victor pressed their lips together, and he shuddered in delight when the Japanese’s palms rested on his chest, his fingers slowly digging into his flesh as the pressure of the kiss changed. Yuuri surprised him by opening his mouth first. The Russian thought he was losing his mind. Had kissing always felt so amazing? Then Yuuri moaned and Victor’s legs almost lost their strength. His back hit something, and his mind screamed with joy at the thought that yes, Yuuri had pinned him against the wall and was now trying to erase any distance between them, one leg sliding between his thighs. 

The kiss deepened and went from sweet to messy, hot and wet. Victor was aware that they were crossing the line between making out and sex, or would be very soon, and as much as he wanted Yuuri, it didn’t feel right to do it now. 

He groaned as the younger man started biting his lips, and finally found the inner strength to stop it. And Yuuri might have been reading his mind, because he stopped everything before Victor even pulled away.

“N-Not now, right?” he murmured, and he looked so gorgeous that Victor struggled even more to ignore the pool of heat between his legs, and the pressure of Yuuri’s length against him.

“I want to, Yuuri,” he sighed, ruffling his hair. “I really want to.”

“But you’re scared?”

Stunned, he blinked several times and smiled.

“I just want it to be perfect. I have to wake up early tomorrow, and when we make love, I intend to be yours entirely for the next day as well.”

“I’d like that a lot.”

They shared their body heat until both of them calmed down. They took a shower separately, then cuddled on the bed with a hot drink and the adventure novel they had started to read together a few days ago.

“Yuuri, I hope you can stay with me forever,” the Russian eventually confessed. just after turning off the lights. 

He felt him move closer until his arms embraced him and his mouth kissed his neck. He let his fingers rub circles against his back.

“I hope I can too.”

 

 

*

 

 

After a whole month of seeing Victor running out of the rink as soon as practice ended, and avoiding spending more time than necessary on the ice, Yakov finally had enough. Instead of waiting for his student to come to the rink, he knocked on his door around the time when Victor woke up lately. Which was much later than usual.

When he opened the door, Victor was thankful that his biological clock didn’t allow him to linger in bed for too long today. He was already dressed, and had been eating breakfast.

“Yakov! So nice to see you. Your smile is a gift in the morning.”

He stepped aside, knowing his coach would come in whether he liked it or not.

“Want something to eat?”

“Vitya, look at me!”

Shrugging, he obeyed, wondering what Yakov hoped to see on his face. The older Russian grimaced.

“Are you taking medication? Something prescribed by your therapist?”

“She believes it’s not necessary unless things start going downhill again.”

Victor went back to the kitchen and sat down to continue eating. Even when he was angry, Yakov wouldn’t force him to go to the rink on an empty stomach. He refused his offer for coffee or tea, and just scrutinized him more and more as minutes went by. He only stopped when a very sleepy and cute Yuuri asked who he was from his spot in the hallway.

Yakov turned around and his eyes widened. Victor sprung to his feet and ran to hug the boy, kissing his temple.

“Go back to sleep, sunshine, I was just about to leave.”

Yuuri reddened at the nickname.

“Mind explaining yourself, Vitya?”

“Ah, of course! Yuuri, this is Yakov, my coach, a pure joy to be around at all times. Yakov, this is my Yuuri. He’s the reason why I always run back home early.”

Yakov huffed, but nodded. Yuuri murmured a “nice to meet you”, then ran back to the bedroom as soon as both Russians seemed ready to leave. Victor’s heart felt light, and while he recognized the tension in his coach’s jaw, he didn’t care. When they reached the car however, Yakov didn’t start the engine. He stared straight ahead.

“How did you two meet?”

“Aaah it was a long time ago. In Japan, actually. I was sixteen I think. I forgot all about him until recently, and then I ran into him. I’m in love with him,” he said with a wide grin.

“I figured you were. What does he do? Is he a fan? You know he could leak personal information to the press and-”

“Ah, he’s a skater too. He won’t betray me, don’t worry.”

The older man didn’t seem reassured in the slightest, and asked to know the boy’s last name.

“Katsuki. But you won’t find anything online-”

Yakov turned to face him so fast that it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap. His face was drained of blood.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” he repeated, and his voice sounded unlike anything Victor had heard from him before. “The missing Junior skater?”

Victor’s eyes widened and he felt a strong and icy chill course through his entire body. No one should know. His previous researches gave no result. How…?

“I’m sorry, what?” he replied nervously.

“When you were sixteen, there was a storm during the competition in Fukuoka. A boy was lost and every coach who was around had to give a statement. The JSF and ISU spoke about him often- Vitya, how could you forget? It affected a lot of people. You don’t recall the outrage when we learned that they stopped searching? The JSF communicated the news during the GPF a year later.”

Panic constricted his chest and he pulled out his phone, typing the exact same criteria he had looked for last time.

The amount of results was staggering. Where Victor knew for a fact that his search gave him 0 links or mention, the number was now glaring at him, well into the tens of thousands.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we have the first consequence of Yuuri's presence in our world. As you can guess, it means his family now mourns the loss of their boy. Part of the wish to save Victor was to erase Yuuri's existence from History, so his parents wouldn't suffer. 
> 
> I apologize for posting this so late, but I was writing Pink Skate Guards and Bunk Beds all week instead :P


	15. Interlude - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short interlude to show how Yuuri affected the hill in Hasetsu after leaving.

There was an old hardware store on the other side of the road, facing the hill and its red torii. Its owner rarely showed up, yet the door was often left wide open, dusty merchandise awaiting thieves who never came.

Just like the hill, it stood ageless, or so it seemed, the content on display always unmoving, the paper taped on the inside of the window fading away with time. The ink was readable in only a few places, and the outline of a boy could still be seen on the picture, turned almost white by the sun.

If you asked the old owner, on the off-chance that you actually ran into him, he would smile sadly and talk to you about the adorable little boy who used to walk by his shop everyday on his way to and from school.

Everyone in the area remembered how he spent his free time between the shrine and the ice rink. One of these people could only frown, mind poisoned with worry. 

The kind spirit who haunted the hill saw the paper appear on the window just when the hydrangea Yuuri used to sleep on withered away, consumed in barely a few seconds. The Other spirit smiled and vanished immediately, and the kind one was left alone, waiting for his precious Yuuri, who never came back.

Now the wish was crumbling. Hiroko, Toshiya and Mari Katsuki came to the shrine once a week to leave offerings for their boy. They shouldn’t be remembering him. No one should. It was part of the deal, to lessen Yuuri’s pain. Granting Victor the use of his legs, taking Yuuri away from the human world, these acts erased the boy’s existence and it should have stayed that way.

The only reason why the illusion was now shattering could be because Yuuri found a way out. He left the spirit realm before his twentieth birthday, before he could choose, and now the Other was gone as well, and the kind spirit was terrified for the future of his little one.

On a warm and windy summer night, he floated down the stairs. He could hear the spiky vines behind him growing faster and faster, strangling the torii and slithering down the steps, following him, building a wall around the shrine. Ever since Yuuri wished for his freedom, the kind spirit never abused it, preferring to stay with the boy instead of roaming the streets. But now the boy was gone, and the hill itself oozed venom. Yuuri freed the Other. He was sure of it. He needed to find someone who could see him, someone who was touched by a spirit or died and came back, but he didn’t know where to start. He could wait until someone recognized Yuuri… or he could take a chance and go to the only place that might give him the answer he sought.

The ice rink.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel guilty because this was so short! Interludes are always short but damn that one is tiny.


	16. St.Petersburg

When Victor was skating, Yuuri tried to do his part to be a good flatmate. Or boyfriend. Definitely boyfriend, he thought, remembering the kiss. He was just coming home from the nearby supermarket, carrying a bag in one hand and thanking his brain for deciding to take a backpack for heavier items. He was tired. After his awkward introduction with Victor’s grumpy coach, he struggled to go back to sleep and was out of bed by 8. It didn’t matter if Victor paid someone to clean the place, Yuuri wanted to help, and he did. After everything shone and smelled like pine trees, he discovered the sad state of the fridge and headed out to fix it.

It rained a little bit - it didn’t really stop since last night - but nothing that would make him run or take cover, so he just strolled, appreciating the district he and Victor lived in. He could hear birds singing and the occasional sound of a car, a rare occurrence in the early afternoon lull, but his ears suddenly picked up something else. A high pitched, weak whine. He looked around, finding nothing, and almost left without checking it out further, before movement between two houses attracted his gaze. He stepped closer.

It was a box, and Yuuri felt like crying, understanding what the noise had been. He knelt down, leaving his bag on the ground, and carefully opened the box. 

He was met with shimmering black eyes and the tiniest, cutest puppy he had ever seen. A flash of anger went through him. Who would dare abandon something so adorable? He shivered and extended his hand so the dog could smell it, and when he believed it was enough, he cradled the creature in his arms carefully.

The puppy was filthy, but didn’t seem wounded. Yuuri now had a reason to hurry home, and he did so in a daze, almost dropping his bag twice. 

He left his shoes and groceries near the door and rushed to the bathroom. The puppy let him wash him, calmly observing his new surroundings. His dark brown fur was soon soft and shiny. Noticing that he didn’t seem to have wanderlust but preferred staying close to him, Yuuri put the groceries away, and finally called Victor with his brand new phone.  It took three tries. Any other day, he would have waited for him to come home, but this was special. 

A few hours later, Yuuri came back from the vet Victor called on his behalf. The puppy wouldn’t leave his side. Expecting to be welcomed by his lover’s arms, he was instead startled to see his coach, looking grimmer than he had in the morning. Victor also seemed uneasy, but his expression changed as soon as he saw the puppy. He moved quietly and dropped to his knees, speechless, his eyes shining. The sight helped with Yuuri’s nerves. 

“Do you have a name for him?” the Russian asked softly when the dog climbed on his lap.

“We’re keeping him?”

Yuuri could barely contain his joy at the nod that followed. He sat on the floor and embraced the older man. He told him he would let him choose a name, and the puppy answered to “Makkachin” with an adorable yip. Their cooing over their new friend didn’t last; Yakov reminded them both of his presence by loudly clearing his throat. Victor cradled the puppy and offered support to Yuuri with a hand on his back, grounding him. They sat in the living room.

“Yuuri Katsuki, I want to be very clear: I don’t wish you any harm,” the coach started and the Japanese felt a cold shiver run through his entire body. “However, I need to know how you found Victor, what you want with him, and if you are in any danger.”

He frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“You have been missing for years, and you turn up here. You didn’t tell Vitya, obviously, so I can only assume you were kidnapped. If you escaped, they’ll be looking for you. I can’t let Vitya take the risk of living with you without knowing everything.”

Yuuri’s world shattered. He heard the words “police”, “family” and “Fukuoka” through a mist of confusion. Victor held him tightly. Makkachin licked his hand. At some point he started crying, but he only noticed when his vision became blurry.

“I d-don’t- I don’t want- I don’t know-”

He couldn’t breathe. Victor called his name and the sound of his voice was the only thing he could hold on to. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears.

This was impossible. He didn’t exist! It was part of the deal! He closed his eyes and let his tears flow freely. He somehow registered that he was now in his new bed and that he could breathe normally, but he had no idea what happened or how long he had been there. All he knew was that tiny Makkachin slept with him.

It was dark outside when he woke up with a clear mind. He understood now. By leaving the rink and reappearing in the world of the livings, he broke the contract, and what his wish had done was now undone. He cried for his mother, his father and his sister, for everyone who loved him and now lived in a reality where they had to suffer through his disappearance. He imagined he was back at the shrine and he prayed, terrified of what was to come. 

He didn’t recognize the low voices coming from the living room, speaking in hushed whispers, but he could only guess they were the police. What could he tell them? That he didn’t remember how he got there? He had to lie. The thought of pretending to have lost his memories due to the trauma of his kidnapping twisted his insides. Yuuri hated it already. He would be sent to a psychiatrist. He would be sent back to Japan. Victor might get in trouble.

Victor… he couldn’t leave him behind. This was his home now, and they just adopted a puppy together. He wanted a normal life with the man he loved so much and he couldn’t do that if he gave anyone the impression that he was too weak to be away from his parents.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

 

 

*

 

 

Therapy was scheduled for him twice a week with a Japanese speaker, as the police believed it might be easier for him. Practice was canceled until Victor’s involvement with Yuuri was cleared up, and to allow them both some rest and some time to talk. They spent the first two days and nights under supervision. Makkachin kept them busy, so they didn’t have to think about the invasion of their privacy too much. Their stories added up and after thoroughly inspecting Victor’s phone calls, emails and browsing history, as well as his whereabouts during the past few years, the couple was finally left alone.

Yuuri would soon see his family again. Some tests needed to be done, to make sure he matched the missing child, and the Russian police force was waiting for the results before contacting the Katsukis. He would then be thrown into the hellish world of legal documents. He needed a passport; his old one was expired and he didn’t have it with him. He also needed a valid visa to stay in Russia. Victor told him he would follow him to Japan while they got this sorted. 

They were both exhausted, but Yuuri slept well knowing Victor was there for him. Yet while he was awake, if he wasn’t trying to get Makkachin to behave, he kept thinking of his family and the gentle spirit. He needed to talk to him and figure out what he could do. The shrine would be one of his first stops after flying back home. He tried visiting the rink where he appeared but it didn’t open any kind of gate to the other world. And if he was given a choice between staying despite the suffering of his family, and going back and fixing it all, he probably would stay, because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Victor behind. Even being separated for a few hours became difficult, so he followed him to the rink, now that Yakov knew about him.

It was at sunset on a warm Thursday evening, when he walked back home with his puppy and Victor’s hand in his, that he saw him.

The kind spirit stood on the sidewalk, head cocked to the side, observing them quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri whispered, and he felt Victor’s fingers tighten around his.

The spirit walked towards him, his long hair floating behind his back, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Hi, little one. I apologize for bothering you so suddenly. Can we talk?”

Yuuri looked at Victor, surprised to see him so pale. He gently tugged on his hand and rubbed soothing circles on his palm. He knew how crazy it must look, seeing him talk to nothing.

“I’ll explain everything, let’s go home.”

“Who is he? What’s happening?”

Yuuri frowned.

“Victor? You can see him?”

“No, but he can hear me,” the kind spirit said softly. “Can’t you, Victor Nikiforov?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. This chapter was hard to write and it will only get harder. As I said in a note in my other story, Pink Skate Guards and Bunk Beds, I will be travelling for the next 3 weeks (I will get katsudon piroshki in Namja Town, I have to). While I believe I might be able to write fluff when I'm back at the hotel in the evening, I doubt I can get into the "angst" mindset for what's coming next. So you might need to wait until mid-April for the next chapter. I won't make promises I can't keep, so it'll be a nice surprise if I do write something before going home :P


	17. St.Petersburg

A ghost. There was a ghost in his apartment. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so dramatic. So far, Victor didn’t really think too deeply about how he had been cured, where Yuuri had gone after that, and how he came back, but there was now one word floating in his head and it was “magic”. And Victor wasn’t ready. 

His life with Yuuri, up until a few days ago, had been so normal it had been easy to forget exactly what they went through. When Yakov told them the news about the missing child, and when the police showed up, their little reality crumbled, but they both fiercely protected it. The Russian grew more protective, and Yuuri took care of him with little gestures he never knew he needed: waking up earlier than necessary to cook breakfast, now that he learned a few recipes and could handle a pan without burning the building down; cuddling as much as possible; light touches that felt like a deep loss when they stopped. He gave Victor more attention, and it made the older man melt. Perhaps it was a way to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t think about his family and the nightmare he was trying to wake up from. The silver-haired skater hoped his love was enough to ground him at least a little bit. He hated the sadness he saw in his reddish brown eyes, the worries in his expression when he thought Victor wasn’t looking, and how his shoulders sagged sometimes. Tiny Makkachin was a blessing for both of them when things turned tense… and maybe the ghost was one too.

Victor could hear his voice, a calming, beautiful sound that reminded him of Yuuri, yet was slightly different. He imagined his owner just as handsome and sweet as his boyfriend. He had to be a good person; Yuuri liked him after all and Makkachin didn’t seem scared. It frustrated him that he couldn’t see him.

After they came back to the apartment and before Victor could deal with the reality of what just happened, he accidentally lightened the atmosphere by asking the spirit if he wanted some tea and sitting on him because he obviously couldn’t see where he had chosen to stay. The icy wind rushing through his body told him what he had done and he quickly moved away, only to be wrapped in Yuuri’s warm arms. Then he heard both of them laugh. The Japanese skater was reduced to happy tears because apparently, the spirit’s expression when Victor sat had been fantastic.

It didn’t help him accept that he had humiliated himself and willingly invited a ghost in his home, but it made him feel better.

He offered to leave them alone so they could catch up; Yuuri refused. He told him that as he was part of his life, he deserved to stay, and his trust made him wonder how he even lived before they fell in love.

There was something about how the spirit called the boy “little one” that warmed his heart. He learned that Yuuri hadn’t been alone in the other world, and he now knew who he had to thank for curing him. Yuuri told him he was fully aware of the consequences when he offered him his wish and as such, Victor couldn’t blame him. It was just the way things - magic - worked. But as nice as this little reunion was, the spirit had a reason for being there, and as the rain poured from the sky he revealed the truth.

“I lied,” he said, and Yuuri kissed Victor’s hair when he tensed up. “All your life, my darling, you trusted me, you were, and still are, my precious boy, and I love you like my own child. Yet I never told you who I was, or that I wasn’t alone on the hill.”

The Russian had been told the story of Yuuri’s resurrection as a baby, and his time spent at the shrine before the wish. It sounded like a fairy tale and he was so thankful that his beloved had been revived. The spirit made sure he knew of this part of Yuuri’s past before speaking. If he hadn’t, Victor wouldn’t be feeling this eerie chill at the new revelation. He could tell Yuuri felt uneasy because his fingers, which had been caressing his hair, stilled on his scalp.

“I was betrayed, tortured and raped until I bled out,” the voice continued, now barely a whisper, and both Yuuri and Victor paled. “I was left to die where you, yourself, lost your life after you were abandoned. I should have become a cruel ghost, thirsty for revenge, but it didn’t happen because my pain was so great it dissociated itself from me. But it didn’t go away.”

Makkachin walked up to the empty, cold spot on the sofa and nudged at nothing, trying to soothe the spirit in distress. The chill grew, only this time it was much scarier. Victor was holding his breath.

“There is another spirit at the shrine on the hill, little one, and it can only be seen by those who have lived through hell. He is me, but at the same time he isn’t. He is all my anger, my suffering and my fears, and he terrifies me. I thought I could protect you from him. I thought he could never touch you, and for so long it looked like I was right. Even if he could do you harm, you could always leave the shrine and he couldn’t follow. I could only get out because you wished for it, but he was trapped. But when you left our world, he vanished. I don’t know where he is. I can only guess he’s trying to find you.”

“What can I do? If Yuuri can’t even see him, how can I keep him safe?” Victor blurted out, eyes wide, terror making its way into his heart.

He thought he knew fear after Yakov’s discovery, but this was so much worse. The cold wind brushed against his cheek.

“Victor Nikiforov. I’ll help you. I’ll always help when it comes to my dear boy. Love is what broke me. I swore I would protect Yuuri from it and I failed. I hoped he would forget you, I prayed he would never know these feelings. Now that I see you together, I refuse to break you apart, however there is something you should know. You and Yuuri are tied and I believe you are cursed, just like I was. I was born with a reddish brown eye, and a light blue one. My blue eye brought me misery. Until today I never realized how similar it was to yours and it worries me. Something must have happened a long time ago. I need to research your family.”

Dazed, the man nodded. The silliness of talking with someone he couldn’t see was gone. All he could feel now was Yuuri’s strong embrace, and he returned it, pressing his lips against his neck, because nothing seemed more important now than the younger skater’s comfort and the support he brought him. 

There was a gush of wind, and Yuuri lifted Victor’s chin. He kissed him. The spirit must have left. Victor returned the kiss, hoping his partner could feel his determination to protect him, his love, and his promise to never leave him alone.

“I should have known,” the Japanese murmured, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes closed and pressing his nose against his cheek.

“Yuuri…”

“A few spots on the hill were rotten, the ground was dead, and one pillar of the torii was always full of vines. It scares me to think something was there all this time.”

Victor bit his lower lip and kissed him again. He hoped the ghost would come back soon; he didn’t feel safe here, knowing something could be with them without anyone noticing. Perhaps Makkachin would bark, but what could a puppy do against pure evil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I did have katsudon piroshki, I also went to the YOI café in Okayama and bought too much cute YOI merch and doujins. Instead of a 3 days rest after my flight I only had 1 and a half and had to go back to work early, so that's why this chapter is so short.


	18. St.Petersburg

Time was running out: Victor had a hard time to be parted from Yuuri now that he was in danger, and Yuuri had just received a confirmation that he was found to be the lost Japanese boy from Hasetsu. Not that he needed it, but this meant he would need to meet with his parents. He was both looking forward to it and dreading it. It would happen in Russia; due to his “kidnapping” and the length of time he spent in the country - even if it wasn’t actually true, but no one knew that -, the government was more lenient and would grant him a visa, provided that he either enrolled in University or found a job.

His therapy sessions were now reduced to one biweekly discussion and the officer who kept in contact with him stopped his random visits. Summer was blending into fall, the days getting shorter. Soon Victor would be too busy to stay by his side so much, at least if he wanted a chance at another medal. They argued about it, because the Russian was ready to take a break this season and it made Yuuri furious. The one to break the fight was the gentle spirit. He wouldn’t leave Yuuri alone at any point in Victor’s absence, using any other moment to do his research.

Yuuri didn’t mind, he loved the spirit dearly and after the initial shock and the invasion of his new life, he welcomed him. Having him around helped ease his fears; it also created hilarious situations with Victor who still couldn’t see him.

So far, nothing indicated that another ghost was creeping up on them. Still, Yuuri never went out after sunset, and he now slept with Victor every night, feeling much safer in his arms. Makkachin tested his patience quite a lot, especially when Yuuri was busy and couldn’t be disturbed. It was difficult for the boy to finally work, after spending so many years either playing with a spirit on a hill, or haunting a high school so he could quench his thirst for knowledge. Following a recommendation from his therapist, after he told him he wanted to stay in Russia, he started giving Japanese lessons online. He planned on taking Russian lessons as soon as Makkachin could be left alone, since he would have to go to an actual school. He wanted an actual structure, believing it would be easier to learn if he was in an environment that was not his home.

He had just finished teaching his tenth lesson and it was getting late, but the sun would still be up long enough for him to walk the dog and get some groceries. 

“Are you sure?” the kind spirit asked, frowning, when Yuuri put on his coat and shoes.

“We’ll be back before night time. You said he wouldn’t just jump me because it’s dark.”

“I said he’s not more dangerous at night than during the day, but I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. We’re out of toilet paper though.”

The spirit sighed, and Yuuri smiled. He couldn’t just avoid going out forever just because he might be attacked. His enemy was a specter, staying home just gave him an illusion of safety. And he was right; they really didn’t have any toilet paper left. His student’s schedule meant he gave him his lesson later than usual. There was nothing he could do about it.

They headed outside together, Makkachin on a tiny leash attracting people with his cuteness. Yuuri thought he should invest in an earpiece to look like he was on the phone when he talked with the spirit, because trying to keep his mouth from moving too much when he was grumbling so no one else could hear was annoying. The spirit found it amusing however.

“Did you find out anything about Victor’s ancestry?” Yuuri asked. 

“Not much. The only ghost I talked to who might have known something was crazy.”

“Where do you find them?”

“Cemeteries, and any holy ground from any religion. They don’t haunt houses.”

At least that meant there wasn’t a random ghost under his bed when he was a kid, he guessed. Not that the possibility ever scared him.

Makkachin barked suddenly and tried to drag Yuuri in an alley. Yuuri humored him because he felt bad that something so tiny might be disappointed if he couldn’t use his strength properly. The spirit laughed and said the puppy was probably very proud of himself right now.

The relaxing walk came to an end when someone called out to him in heavily accented English.

“Hey you. With the puppy.”

Yuuri tensed and lifted his gaze from Makkachin to the stranger, who was sitting on a broken brick wall with a smirk on his beautiful face. Yuuri was taken aback, but even if the boy - the man? - looked like a rebellious elven prince, he didn’t have Victor’s charm. Not in Yuuri's eyes anyway. 

His blond hair fell down to his waist, one side of his head partially shaved. He was dressed all in black except for a leopard printed jacket and sneakers. A series of dermal piercings shone under his right eye, which were a vibrant green. He was about Victor’s height, perhaps slightly taller.

Makkachin wasn’t growling, the spirit was standing still and waiting, and Yuuri didn’t feel any threatening atmosphere around the blonde. He still kept his distances.

“I’m sorry, did you need something?” he asked, and the other man’s eyes shone.

“You do know you’re being followed by a ghost, right?”

His eyes widened and before he could speak, the spirit asked if he could see him.

“Of course I can. I’ve been told you needed help; I didn’t know you were attached to a living being though.”

Yuuri picked up his puppy to ground himself.

“Who told you?” the kind spirit continued, a hand against Yuuri’s back.

“That old hag in the cemetery you visited yesterday. She talks a lot.”

“Sorry but, who are you?” Yuuri finally said. 

Makkachin licked his cheek.

“Yuri Plisetsky, and you better remember it.”

“My name’s Yuuri too. I won’t forget easily,” he replied softly.

“Hah? Oh great, I have the same name as Nikiforov’s sex toy.”

“I’m-I’m not-” Yuuri stammered, blushing furiously.

“Please do not insult my friend,” the spirit interrupted.

“Okay, Nikiforov’s boyfriend. Happy?”

Somehow this made him blush even harder.

“Your name doesn’t explain how you can see me,” the ghost muttered, “how you know who Yuuri is, or why you think you can help.”

Yuri snorted. 

“You don’t need to know too much. I’ve been adopted after I was found abandoned outside as a newborn. Obviously I died, I mean, you don’t leave a baby there in the winter and expect it to survive.”

A human could hear ghosts if he was touched by them in one way or another, and he could see them if he died and came back himself. Yuuri knew this all too well. His chest felt tight at the revelation that Yuri’s life started exactly the same way as his own.

“Who… who revived you?”

“Anekt. Remember his name too. You’ll need him.”

“Who is Anekt?”

“Tch. Long story. Hey, do you have money? I’m hungry. Forgot my wallet at home.”

Was he about to be robbed? He exchanged a glance with the spirit who stepped in front of him protectively. Yuri rolled his eyes.

“I just meant buy me a sandwich or something, let’s go get coffee, I don’t know. That wall isn’t comfortable and we have a lot to talk about.”

“Th-then, come with us, I’m going to the supermarket. You can join us for dinner.”

“Little one, is it wise?”

Yuuri studied the boy, who might actually have been his age, then nodded. He trusted him, somehow. There was just something about him… and what choice did they have? If that kid could help get rid of the shadow looming over him and Victor, even just a little, bring them closer to a solution, then he was welcome in their home.

With Yuri walking next to him, the Japanese didn’t feel self-conscious about talking to someone no one could see anymore. In the short timeframe spent together, he discovered a snarky, aggressive yet funny persona under his permanent smirk. He was useful for groceries at least, even if Yuuri found several items he never intended to buy by the time he reached the cashier. Yuri just shrugged and said he wanted to eat piroshki tonight and those were the required ingredients. 

“I have no idea how to make them,” Yuuri said for the third time, reaching the door to his flat. 

“I’ll teach you.”

He didn’t expect Victor to be back already. As soon as he stepped inside the apartment, he was hugged tightly and the silver-haired skater peppered his face with so many kisses they both laughed. All Yuuri wanted was to melt in the man’s arms but they had a guest. Victor saw him a few seconds after pressing a loud kiss to the Japanese’s forehead.

“Oh! Hi- wait, you’re Yuri!”

“Move, old man, these bags are heavy.”

Bewildered, Yuuri and the spirit followed the Russians after closing the door behind them.

“You know each other?” the ghost asked.

Victor opened the fridge and helped the blonde with the groceries. He explained that they both grew up on the same street but Yuri moved to Moscow just as Victor started competing. They were friends as toddlers but it was a faraway memory. When Victor’s skating became serious, they slowly lost contact, then spent years without any news from each other.

Today, they still wouldn’t call each other friends. The last time Victor saw Yuri was almost two years ago when the young man moved back to St.Petersburg. Yuri shuddered, which made Yuuri reluctant to hear what their reunion had been like - Victor still told him though. Yuri was a famous ballet dancer. The skater saw him in a production of the Nutcracker, they shared a meal after the show and nearly slept together - until they both realized it felt completely wrong for some inexplicable reason. They never talked after that, though they did still greet each other if they met. They were acquaintances who respected each other’s work.

“You hid all of this from me,” Victor said, frowning, a little while later as they all huddled in the kitchen.

Yuri had just shared the truth about his rebirth and the purpose of his visit, his speech often broken so he could tell Yuuri that he was doing something wrong with the dough for the piroshki.

“And you never told me about that wish thing, I had to find out from Anekt.”

“We weren’t in contact at the time and I only remembered about it a few months ago.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the spirit sighed, “but I still need to know who this person is.”

Yuri made a noise that sounded almost like a growl.

“Ghost. Gorgeous guy, you’d like him if you’re into men. Revived me, is my friend, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Yuuri repeated, his eyes fixed on the meat he was carefully preparing.

“He barely talks, he’s just there and does nothing. He often vanishes for weeks so he can go back to the spot where he died. I know he revived another kid long before me and granted him wishes, one of them meaning he can leave his resting place. He doesn’t have an evil twin, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Victor mumbled something like everyone having a guardian spirit around and him being a bit jealous, then Yuuri bit his lower lip as another string of thoughts crossed his mind.

“Why do we all have so much in common?” he whispered.

“Not sure but it’s important for your ghost and Anekt to meet. Hey, ghostie, do you have a name?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened and he turned around, looking at the gentle spirit who seemed shaken. No matter how many times he asked, the Japanese never got an answer to this question.

Yet he revealed it in a soft sigh for the first time: Atsuhira. He didn’t know how to feel about having this piece of information hidden from him, but compared to the revelation of the danger he was in, it was nothing.

The piroshki came out perfect. Atsuhira left the trio by themselves for dinner and Victor grabbed his boyfriend’s waist possessively, which Yuuri appreciated as he always craved his touch. With food in his stomach, Yuri was friendlier and the Japanese was starting to like his snarkiness more and more. He also found the dynamic between his lover and the blonde rather funny, because they threw insults or stupid nicknames at each other constantly and Victor didn’t seem to mind at all. They acted like brothers who had never been separated for as long as they had. Acquaintances… perhaps, but if they spent more time together, they might just become close once again. Yuuri knew it would make Victor happy. 

That night as they went to sleep after Yuri went home, he felt warm and loved. His fears were gone. 

None of the men noticed the vines strangling the tree, stealing its life force, just outside the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE HE IS! I aged him up. I wanted him to be a child at first, keeping the age difference correct according to canon, but his role changed as I was writing and it didn’t work for a child anymore. The only reason he calls Victor old man is because his hair is silver, since they're the same age.
> 
> We now have 3 ghosts, and we're getting closer to the big reveal, the reason behind all of this. If you're wondering, both Anekt and Atsuhira were born in mid-5th century A.D. Their date of birth also means something :P


	19. St.Petersburg

Victor’s feet were still asleep when he crawled out of bed and tingling pain shot up from his soles. It was like walking on needles. Groaning, he sat back down and massaged his legs, trying to get the blood flowing normally. Each touch made him wince. It had been a while since he had to go through this. 

Glancing at Yuuri’s side of the bed, he bit his lower lip. The boy left in a hurry before their usual alarm sounded. Yakov picked him up and drove him him to the airport, where he would meet his parents who flew to St.Petersburg as soon as they were able to. Due to Yakov’s presence with them, practice would start later. 

The young man wished he could have accompanied Yuuri; he knew how emotional this reunion would be and he feared that Yuuri would grow anxious and feel lost. Atsuhira would be close-by but would it be enough if the boy crumbled? The only reason he didn’t insist to come, was that he and Yuuri both believed this was a situation the Japanese needed to go through on his own.

With a hiss, the Russian tried to think about something else as he prepared a smoothie for his breakfast, regularly lifting one foot off the floor and hoping the sensation would vanish soon. He let his mind drift to Yuuri and what they had. It was difficult to put a name on it, even now. They made it clear that they were a couple, yet they rarely did anything to show it. Kisses were rare, they barely had any intimacy. Victor refused to move too fast, to treat Yuuri like another one-night stand he would want to forget, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing something wrong. Perhaps he should be more affectionate? Breach Yuuri’s walls little by little, see what he let him get away with? The younger boy’s shyness got worse after Yakov broke the news that started this mess. And Victor… well, himself wasn’t exactly the playboy he used to be. He was unsure and scared, now more than ever. 

He shook his head and drank his breakfast, grabbed a protein bar and the meal he and Yuuri prepared together and put in a lunchbox for him, and headed towards the door. He sent a quick text to Yuuri to tell him he was thinking about him. Putting on his shoes hurt. It would get better if he jogged. Yakov wouldn’t be at the rink in the morning so he could afford to be late. If he ran, he could make it in a little less than an hour. He could also simply train at the old rink nearby. He discarded the idea when he went outside and noticed a line of kids waiting to get in. School trip, probably. He left in the opposite direction. A small part of his brain saw the vines strangling the trees but he didn’t pay attention, he was too busy getting mad at the tingling in his feet.

Running did soothe the pain though, but getting the blood to circulate and warming up his muscles didn’t help as much as it should have. He stopped halfway to get coffee and walked while sipping the hot liquid. After throwing the empty cup away, he resumed his exercise, to finally reach the rink utterly exhausted. It never took so much out of him to run, so why now? True, he didn’t sleep very well with everything that was happening; Yuuri’s sadness and worries, the threat of a vengeful ghost looming and the information learned from this strange Yuri Plisetsky were too much. Everything started going downhill from the moment he and Yuuri started being affectionate. He just wanted him to be happy and spend their evening cuddling. The unfairness of it all weighed on his shoulders. At least it explained his lack of energy.

He went through his usual routine when Yakov wasn’t there: stretching on the floor and against the nearest wall, skating lazily around the rink then working on his interpretation. Lately, Yuuri had been watching his routines and giving him his thoughts. While he couldn’t exactly point out technical mistakes since his own skating lacked elements requiring a coach, he was perfectly capable of judging artistry. He didn’t spend years training as a spirit for nothing, even if no one could see him do it, and he considered himself an ice dancer. So, with the boy’s comments in mind, Victor launched himself in his newest short program, downgrading every jump so he wouldn’t hurt himself in the absence of his coach.

He wasn’t completely alone; a woman in her forties coached pair skaters on the other side of the rink, which was big enough to share the ice. Her presence made his training more secure, though he didn’t mind skating all by himself. He just felt that, for once, given his fatigue, he needed someone here if he fell. 

The sensation in his feet and legs was still bothering him two hours later when Yakov finally arrived. He ignored it and raced to the plastic wall.

“How is Yuuri?” he asked immediately, and Yakov shrugged.

“He’s fine. Go get lunch then show me your programs.”

He stepped out of the rink and put on his blade guards. The hiss he let out did not go unnoticed.

“Better tell me if you hurt yourself, Vitya!”

“I didn’t,” he muttered. “My feet are asleep.”

Yakov scrutinized him as he walked to the nearest bench where his bag waited for him. He opened the lunch box and smiled, then started to read the messages on his phone.

 

 

From: Yuuri

I’m staying with my parents at their hotel today, is it okay?

 

 

He bit his lips and asked if he would be back for dinner.

 

 

From: Yuuri

No but maybe you can join us

 

To: Yuuri

:D Do you want me to meet your parents??

 

From: Yuuri

Yes. They also want to know who you are. They think you saved me.

 

 

_As far as I know I might have made everything worse by dragging you back to our world_ , he thought bitterly.

 

 

To: Yuuri

Ok, I’ll be there. Book a room for us? I don’t want to go back home after dark.

 

From: Yuuri

Alright. See you at 7pm! Sending the map to find the hotel. Thanks for doing this for me.

 

To: Yuuri

Thanks for inviting me <3 <3 See you tonight!

 

 

“Vitya, I don’t see you eating!”

No, indeed, all he was doing was grinning like an idiot. Now that he had plans for later, his day seemed brighter already. 

His well deserved break came to an end and soon he was busy getting yelled at for flubbing his quads. He did however impress his grumpy coach with his step sequence. The absence of comment told him he did well.

By the end of the day, he had forgotten the tingling under his skin. It made its presence known when he removed his skates, and stepping into the shower seemed to make it worse. Still, after going home to get dressed differently, he walked to the hotel, ready to meet the Katsuki family. He would probably ask Yuuri for a foot massage later. Yes, that sounded great.

Only, he never made it there.

Just as he passed next to the entrance to a metro station, he saw a blurry figure in the corner of his eye. It vanished, and as soon as it did, Victor collapsed. The shock of hitting the ground echoed in his bones. He gasped. Shivers ran down his spine and when he tried to stand up, he found that he couldn’t.

With no one around, and nothing close by to act as support so he could try to get up, he started to panic. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then fished his phone out of his pocket. 

“Vitya, what did you forget this time? I am NOT going back to the rink to get it for you!”

“Ya-” Talking seemed too hard, his words were stuck in his throat. Yakov’s tone changed immediately.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

He heard a brief murmur that seemed to come from all around him and inside his head. He managed to give the name of the metro station before losing his voice completely when he saw black vines slithering on the walls of the building behind him. Yakov sounded more and more distressed. Victor dropped his phone, then scrambled to retrieve it.

If this was how he died, he needed to tell Yuuri how much he loved him. Now the blurry figure was back, and the vines seemed to be an extension of its shadow, endless legs and arms polluting everything they touched. Looking directly at the silhouette felt painful and so, so wrong. Like watching something Victor knew shouldn’t exist and was so deeply unnatural it made him sick. It sucked the warmth and light out of everything, a black hole standing there and whispering in too many different voices. If Victor wanted to scream, he couldn’t. Crawling away would accomplish nothing: the figure appeared everywhere he looked, as if it was just a smudge on his retina. 

A putrid smell awakened his demons, the nightmares he had been plagued with for weeks before Yuuri came back into his life, before he got help, before Chris found him and dragged him out of his apartment. The whispers sounded like the voices that told him how disgusting, how monstrous he was. Images flickered in his mind, the same he saw back then, the boy being torn apart - except the boy was now all grown up, and it was so, so much worse to see his beloved being tortured. The happiness he had built over the past few months was slowly drained out of him. Then he felt it.

_ Guilt guilt guilt guilt _

It gnawed at his heart once again and if he could talk he would beg for it to stop. But he didn’t need to. Suddenly, the figure vanished, taking all of Victor’s horror and emotions with it. He was left on the hard ground, shivering and breathless, and before he could grab his phone he heard footsteps, followed by a voice he never thought he’d be so relieved to hear:

“Hey asshat, why the hell are you alone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolol sorry to end this chapter here, if I didn’t it would have taken longer to be posted :P


	20. Interlude - 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back in time and meet Anekt!  
> ... because leaving you all with the previous cliffhanger a bit longer is cruel, and I am a cruel person.

There once was a clan of men and women living in a frozen land by the dark northern sea. Each winter they went through toughened them up. They used the snow to freeze their food and nothing went to waste. This included unnecessary trouble.

 

And trouble arose when a baby boy was born, one eye a pure ice blue, the other a warm, reddish brown. They tolerated his presence when they realized his birth did not bring them misery. Their food didn’t rot and sickness spared them. Some even said he was a blessing from Nature, and while it made most of the clan laugh, his mother and a handful of people paid close attention to him. 

 

He grew up a happy yet weak child. He couldn’t run for long, and sometimes he couldn’t breathe. His clan almost lost him after he accompanied older children to the nearby forest to pick up wood. He survived only by luck, and from this day on he was asked to be useful in a different way. He would study under their clan’s healer.

 

Herbs, flowers, trees and fruits became his whole life. Not only did he assist the old woman who taught him, but he also found a strong interest in the spirits he knew were all around him. Often, he would make an offering, soon followed by the other children, until the whole clan adopted his habit and made it a requirement, to honor or soothe any entity watching over them or threatening them.

 

By the time the boy’s features sharpened, everyone, even those who wished him dead upon his birth, adored him. He often sang as he prepared healing mixtures, a wonderful voice carried by the wind and bringing smiles on everyone’s faces. He sang of love, and dreamt of another boy he had never met, who shared the same strange eyes. 

 

Now almost of age, his body and face looked so different from everyone else, so much thinner, so much more fragile, and so much prettier, that word of his existence reached the ears of another clan leader. People talked about a child who did not look like a man nor a woman, and whose beauty and voice rivaled the legendary creatures who were so enchanting they could lead men to their doom. They told of a boy whose long blond hair shone like the moon, whose body could break at the slightest breeze. They said he was blessed and brought luck and wealth to his clan.

 

The clan leader sent his men to the northern seashore.

 

Blood on their hands, they threw the boy at his feet a few weeks later. The chief saw his terror. He drank it like the most delicious nectar and all the boy could see were the bodies of his family and friends falling one by one. 

 

His daze protected his mind when his body was torn apart. They didn’t want to hear him sing, they only enjoyed his screams. But he didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing them. He couldn’t feel anything. He knew something was wrong and soon he couldn’t see out of his brown eye anymore, yet he was too far gone in his escape world to care.

 

In his dreams, the boy he loved danced with him. Long dark hair felt soft under his touch. A tangle of limbs, shared laughter, breathless whispers and blinding pleasure eclipsed reality. They erased the rough hands that touched him, the rusted blades splitting his skin. He always forgot about it as soon as it happened. Sometimes he didn’t even know where he was. His reality had been replaced by a world he never wanted to leave.

 

Yet one day the boy he loved so dearly died in his arms, and pure blinding rage and pain brought him back to his own realm.

 

He killed the man who used him, who thought he was a harmless puppet. His strength, born from despair, carried him out of the tent. He vaguely registered that winter had ended, and wondered how long it had truly been since he last saw the sun. In the darkness of a moonless night, he escaped, and only when his breathing burnt his lungs, did he fall to his knees. And this time, he didn’t get up. 

 

The gorgeous, enchanting boy died under an old rotten tree, unaware of his mutilated body, thinking only of the ones who lost their lives to protect him, and of the love of his life, who allowed him to smile while unspeakable horrors were being done to him.

 

His last prayer was a wish; for them to one day meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is halfway done, I'll see if I can post it this week ^v^


	21. St.Petersburg

“Okay, what’s wrong, Vitya?” Yuuri asked softly, closing the door of their hotel room behind him.

Victor wouldn’t lie to him but he didn’t seem ready to speak. Yuuri watched him tiptoe towards the electric kettle and check the complimentary teabags on the tray as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, and right now they might as well be. 

He noticed something was off about his boyfriend earlier, when the older man walked up to the table where the Katsukis gathered. The smile he wore was the same he showed to the press, and by now the younger skater knew him well enough to tell the difference. At first, he thought it was the stress. Meeting the parents was new to Victor. He never had a serious relationship before and he did tell Yuuri how guilty he felt about lying through his teeth. Yuuri wasn’t feeling much better about it either; they couldn’t exactly tell them how they met or why they were already living together. As far as the Katsukis knew, Yuuri was recovering from a kidnapping. It helped that they didn’t bring it up, it made their reunion easier. But the almost-normal dinner was a disguise for Victor. 

While Toshiya, Mari and Hiroko talked about the onsen and shared funny stories, Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and squeezed it just a little bit too tight. Atsuhira, who didn’t leave his “little one’s” side all day, even moved closer but kept quiet. 

Something happened and Yuuri hated the way Victor’s eyes seemed so unfocused during the meal, or how jumpy he was each time someone walked by. Victor excelled in pretending everything was fine, with his fake smile and perfect composure, however today he was crumbling, and Yuuri was scared.

Now, away from his parents’ gaze and his sister’s smirk, the younger boy crossed his fingers and moved closer to his boyfriend. He embraced him from behind and kissed his neck, but he did so gently, humming a melody at the same time so as not to scare him. The Russian tensed. 

“Are you alright?” he said then, worried but trying not to show it. “Talk to me when you’re ready. We have all night.” Biting his lips, he thought perhaps he should keep him busy, so he asked him if he could make some tea and Victor appeared relieved now that he had something to do with his hands.

Atsuhira was gone by the time the water boiled. Yuuri believed he just hid in the corridor. He did the same thing at the apartment, rarely entering the bedroom, and Yuuri could understand why. He also felt better knowing his best friend wouldn’t witness anything intimate. Not that he and Victor did anything more than kissing, but he really didn’t wish to be seen even in such an innocent setting. 

Yuuri kissed his beloved on the cheek when he gave him a mug and he left it on the nightstand to cool a little. He sat on the mattress, his back against the wall, and smiled, inviting him by patting the duvet. Victor hesitated. A few seconds later, he crawled up to him from the foot of the bed and buried his face in his shirt, snuggling up against him.

The only time Yuuri had seen him so distressed was still a vivid memory. A teenager, hunched over in a wheelchair, mourning the loss of his future. Only this time he didn’t have a wish to offer him, he could only wait and support him. He kissed the top of his head, running his fingers up and down his back, hoping it could soothe him. He learned a lot of his social skills from Atsuhira, and replicating his kindness and care came naturally to him.

“I thought I was going to die,” Victor finally whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

It felt like his heart stopped beating.

“He was there, and my legs stopped working, I saw-... Yuuri, I’m sorry-”

He tightened his grip on him.

“Yuri saved my life,” Victor continued, seemingly more at ease when he talked about the “after”.

“Did he bring you to the hotel?”

“Mh. Him and Yakov. Yuri made the ghost disappear and Yakov turned up a few minutes later.”

“You didn’t have to force yourself to sit with my family…”

“I thought it would help take my mind off things. Maybe it did. What do we do, Yuuri? God, everytime I close my eyes I see  _ that _ …  _ him _ , again.” His voice broke and while he didn’t shiver anymore, Yuuri knew he was still crying.

He took a few deep, slow breaths and closed his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he started, feeling the responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders, “we’ll speak with Yuri, Atsuhira and Anekt and get to the bottom of this. I’m not waiting until something else happens. I’m not putting your life at risk anymore than it already is. Stay close to me.”

A nod, and Yuuri felt his grip loosen. He wasn’t sure when Victor fell asleep, but now he listened to his the rhythm of his breathing, fingers tangled in his silver hair. He would do anything to save him from the monster who sought their suffering.

When he was certain that the Russian was deeply asleep, he texted Plisetsky. 

 

 

**To: Yuri**

Hey. How did you make him go away?

 

**From: Yuri**

Wasn’t me. 

 

**To: Yuri**

Anekt then?

 

**From: Yuri**

Yeah. I’m just down the hall, want me to come to your room?

 

**To: Yuri**

Vitya is sleeping, better not. So?

 

**From: Yuri**

You’re annoying, I hate typing. That whole story is sappy so get ready. Anekt died hopeful and forgiving, Atsuhira died hating love and cursing the gods. The one who’s after you, since he represents hatred and fear, can’t stand Anekt, he's too pure for him. So, Anekt possessed me and I touched the shadow that was attacking Victor. 

 

 

Yuuri’s thumbs stood still above the screen. He glanced at Victor, who was now using his chest as a pillow, and with a sigh he started typing again.

 

 

**To: Yuri**

Why did he need to possess you?

 

**From: Yuri**

No clue, told you he doesn’t talk much

 

**To: Yuri**

You trusted him to take over your body?

 

**From: Yuri**

You’d trust Atsuhira to do the same.

 

 

He had a point. Both he and Yuri had been saved, revived by these spirits after all. It didn’t mean he liked the idea of  _ lending _ his body to someone.

 

 

**To: Yuri**

Do you think we can get rid of the other if we’re possessed?

 

**From: Yuri**

Getting rid of him isn’t exactly the answer but I’d say we should look into it.

 

**To: Yuri**

I’m tired of “looking into it”, I want to do something. I’m scared. Aside from having a lunatic after us, the wish I made is being reverted, so what if Victor ends up in a wheelchair?

 

**From: Yuri**

You think he would kill himself.

 

He blinked back tears and kissed the top of his partner’s head. He didn’t reply, only closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Victor might be happy with his life at the moment, but there was darkness lurking behind his smile. He knew, from the long talks they often had, how self-destructive he could be. If he couldn’t skate anymore, couldn’t even stand up, then yes, he feared the worst. 

His phone blinked a few times and he didn’t reply to any further probing from the blond dancer. Instead, he held Victor tighter.

 

 

*

 

 

Anekt looked strikingly similar to Yuri, only younger and more angelic, and without his green eyes. Just like Yuri said, he wasn’t the most talkative of ghosts, but it seemed like Atsuhira was drawn to him. From the moment Yuuri, Victor and the Japanese spirit entered Yuri’s room, both ethereal beings stood so close to one another that sometimes, their limbs would merge. A strange sight, especially since they didn’t talk to each other.

Yuuri was tired, and Victor was clingy, but he didn’t have the heart to ask for personal space. The Russian had always been touchy and it never bothered him, but today he took things a step further. Sometimes his embrace was so strong Yuuri had trouble breathing. He hated seeing him like this. 

Victor let go of him when Yuri came back from a nearby bakery with their breakfast. It was early; they all decided to regroup after that strange night and put a plan into place. Yuri spent several hours in a cemetery before dawn and should have looked like a zombie with how little sleep he had gotten - but no, he looked unfairly healthy and rested.  

“Alright,” he said, grumpy as always despite his lack of apparent tiredness, “here is what I know: Atsuhira and Anekt were born in 541, died at fifteen. Atsuhira bled to death, he was discarded by the people who tortured him. Anekt might have survived in the modern world but he had asthma. He suffocated. They both have heterochromia, the exact same eyes but opposite. The brown eye looks like Yuuri’s, the blue like Victor’s. Anekt stayed sane during his torture by imagining Atsuhira’s touch, even though they had never met. If Atsuhira hadn’t fallen in love with the Emperor, he would have seen Anekt as well, and it would have eased his pain.”

Coffee saved Yuuri from misunderstanding half of Yuri’s words; he wasn’t a morning person after all.

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“I just told you I spent most of the night in the cemetery! Also, I talked with our disgusting couple back there,” he explained with a yawn, pointing at the glowing figures behind the couch.

Yuuri nodded, and Victor kissed his cheek. His face flushed and he smiled. Victor was so sweet, even after an attack that should have left him traumatized.

“Apparently they’re something like soulmates but they couldn’t meet because they were born in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Yuri continued. “Anyway. Anekt died thinking about love and how glad he was to have felt it in his dreams; Atsuhira died wishing he never knew what love was. Because Anekt wasn’t as angry, he didn’t divide himself and didn’t create a psychopathic wraith to haunt people. Then we have what happened fifty years ago: same shit, abandoned baby in a forest in northern Siberia. Died from the cold, and woke Anekt from his beauty sleep. He was revived. When we are resurrected, we steal a piece of our savior’s soul and it becomes part of us. That kid was found by a farmer, lived in an orphanage for most of his childhood, was adopted by the Nikiforov family, then married a silver-haired woman and had a son, Victor. His father transmitted the soul shard to him. Victor is part-Anekt, just like me, even if he wasn’t the one who was revived. Later Yuuri woke Atsuhira and got his soul shard. Awake now?”

_ Yes, awake, and with a headache _ , Yuuri thought, frowning. He listened to more details, learning that since Atsuhira and Anekt were soulmates who never met before their death, their souls continued to look for one another by entering living beings until two of them fell for each other. If the person possessing the soul shard within themselves fell in love with someone else, then the shard would go dormant, and be transmitted to this person’s first born child. If no child was born upon the person's death, the shard would find its way to another vessel.

“I’m not sure how this is relevant to our issue,” Yuuri sighed.

“They can only move on once the shards are reunited.”

“That doesn’t explain much. If I have a piece of Anekt’s soul in me, and Yuuri has Atsuhira’s soul in him, they should be reunited already,” Victor pointed out, munching on a toast, and Yuuri beamed. Victor felt much better if he was able to talk and eat.

“I guess that’s because Atsuhira isn’t complete, so it’s not working.”

“Wait, so you would technically be my soulmate too?” Yuuri cringed.

Yuri shuddered and snorted.

“Yeah, no thanks. Besides, I already fell in love once, so that shard is expired. I hope. Ew.” 

“But what happens now? It’s romantic, but we still need to figure out what to do about the other.”

He felt Victor tense up slightly and rubbed his back until he calmed down. The first thing he did when they woke up, was show him the texts about possession and Victor told him he couldn’t stand the thought. Understandable.

“Do you have some sorcery up your sleeve?”

“Nah, I never got my letter.”

“Me neither!” Victor whined. “I was just so sad!”

Yuuri looked at the Russians, confused.

“What letter?”

“For Hogwarts,” Yuri said, rolling his eyes as if Yuuri was supposed to know. 

He asked what Hogwarts was - which resulted in the most shocked expression on both men’s faces, and he decided to drop the topic. However, Victor claimed his ignorance was a scandal, Yuri faked a heart attack, and the atmosphere went from uncomfortable and dark, to fun and relaxed. All of this because Yuuri apparently didn’t know about a weird place with an even weirder name. If he had known how easy it was to get Victor’s cheery mood back, even for a short time, he would have done it hours ago. 

It took ten minutes for the Russians to stop their antics.

In the end, they reached an agreement. To make Atsuhira whole, the ghost needed to allow himself to love again, and they would use possession to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a Harry Potter mood... today at work my entire team got sorted into their house on Pottermore after they heard a coworker and I compare Slytherin and Ravenclaw, where we were sorted a few years ago.  
> So... yeah, blame my teammates.


	22. Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a new chapter!

Hi all!

 

Don't worry, this is not a "I am abandoning this story" notice, absolutely not.

 

I'll be posting the same message for [Pink Skate Guards and Bunk Beds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9982199) because these two stories are the ones that should have been updated ages ago. I have less trouble with my inspiration for [Fireworks above the Lake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11027064/chapters/24575970) currently.

 

However, it is a notice to let you know it might take some time before I can finish and publish the next chapters. The "busy times" at work have ended, and were replaced by some depression symptoms (very light, don't worry, I know how to deal with them) and, for the first time ever, homesickness. I live away from my family, I haven't seen them in 2 years (except my mom, who came to Japan with me in April), I miss my mom's cooking, and all of my friends are scattered all over the world, none of them live in my country (well, I have none left in my home country either but still).

 

I'll get over it. But because of that, I can't concentrate much and am pretty tired during the weekend, and all I want to do is read. So that's what I do. I read and cook and sometimes I manage to write a paragraph. Basically I'm writing like the slowest snail on the planet, if snails could write.

 

I started to feel guilty about not updating so I figured a note here would be the best way to deal with it at the moment.

 

Stay around, because I'll update this story as soon as I can! 

**Author's Note:**

>  ** _Find me here:_**  
>  Twitter: [@FuzzyJawa](https://twitter.com/FuzzyJawa)  
> Tumblr: [vivi1138](http://vivi1138.tumblr.com/) (main)/ [FluffySnowyEgret](http://fluffysnowyegret.tumblr.com/) (Yuri on Ice-centric)  
> (I reblog stuff. I'm more active on Twitter)  
> Completed multichapters YOI fics:  
> [Eyes Like Frozen Water](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8761624/chapters/20649373)  
> [Tiger Stripes and Smartphones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9452684/chapters/21385880)  
> Ongoing multichapters YOI fics:  
> [Pink Skate Guards and Bunk Beds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9982199/chapters/22296806) (continuation of Tiger Stripes and Smartphones)  
> [Fireworks above the Lake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11027064/chapters/24575970)
> 
>  ** _Rough update info:_**  
>  Once a week, can be more, but can also be less, as I am currently a very busy cookie  
> 


End file.
